Brother Avengers
by Alydia Rackham
Summary: Tony Stark and SHIELD are joined by Thor, Loki, Captain America and Wolverine—but this ill-matched team will have to overcome vast personal differences if they hope to defeat an enemy force that threatens all the realms.Sequel to "Fallen Star." NO SLASH
1. Chapter 1

_At last, Tony Stark and SHIELD are joined by Thor, Loki, Captain America and Wolverine—but this ill-matched team will have to overcome vast personal differences if they ever hope to defeat an enemy force that threatens all the realms. Sequel to "Fallen Star."_

_For SunnyZim, whose Hat of Wisdom demanded that I begin. And to all those who came with me through "Fallen Star." I hope all those who read this deeply enjoy it._

VVV

Brother Avengers

ONE

The walls shivered. A deep rumble quivered through the stone, then subsided. Dust and small rocks fell from the ceiling and clinked against the metal floor. A tall, hooded and cloaked figure slipped through a doorway, feeling the musty air open up before him as if a vast space waited just beyond. He reached a gloved hand out to the left, found a large switch, and threw it.

Connections snapped together. Electricity hissed. Overhead lights clanged—

And dim yellow lights buzzed and flickered to life…

Illuminating a large chamber, encircled by iron catwalks.

He stepped forward, his boots tapping the metal, and grasped a railing. He leaned slightly over the edge and gazed down.

The lower level was littered with equipment—blinking computer screens, wires and brains—and countless tables covered with weaponry that glowed from within with an eerie, pulsing blue light. But what caught his attention, and held it, was a huge golden dome, almost a globe, that stood at one end, and slowly spun.

He lifted his head. Level with him, but all the way across the chamber, stood another figure in the shadow of a pillar. The first man could just make out the second man's broad-shouldered uniform.

"I like what you've done with the place," the first man commented. His deep voice echoed, accompanying the constant mechanical hum.

"I approve of the working space, Doctor," came the harshly-accented reply. "Although I could use more of it."

The first man shrugged and held out his hands.

"I had another spot all picked out—but it kind of fell through."

"I am sorry to hear that," the other man said. "This is a small space, for the two of us to work."

"I'm not shy," the first man told him. "And I'm sure we won't get in each other's way."

A heavy silence fell between them. The second man's head tilted.

"I am sure we will not."

"Why would we?" the first man asked. "Our goal is the same, but our interests are different. We should each learn enough, and gain enough, individually, to satisfy us both."

"Indeed, Doctor," the second man nodded. "An equal division of the earth and the heavens."

"Quite so," the first man inclined his head. "Shall we begin?"

"My pleasure," said the second man, motioning to him. "Come. Come with me. I want to show you something."

AAAAA

"Come on, Pep—you like New York."

"I've never liked New York, and you know that. Quit trying to—"

"There's plays—you like plays, and music, and clubs—"

"—make it seem like this was my idea, Tony. I told you could handle this by yourself and I didn't want to—"

"—so I can take you dancing. I know you enjoy that. And you never—"

"—tag along on some meet-and-greet with _Nick Fury_ over some—"

"—get to relax, anyway, so I've put us up in a Hilton—"

"—project he's got going, and…Tony, _stop_," Pepper huffed, halting in the middle of a bustling Time's Square sidewalk, and pushing a strand of dusty-red hair out of her freckled face. Tony walked past her, then swung around to face her. She glared at him as the pedestrians hastily maneuvered around them. The thousands of neon lights, brilliant against the darkness, flashed and danced against her vision, and the traffic roared—but she focused on Tony.

His dark hair was mussed, his collar hung askew and his dark suit looked unkempt—but his bright black eyes watched her with such innocence, his eyebrows raised, that she could only sigh and roll her eyes instead of yell at him. She reached up and rubbed her forehead.

"I have a headache," she mumbled.

Tony reached up and took hold of the hand she was using to massage her forehead, then leaned in and kissed her right above the bridge of her nose.

"No you don't," he accused. She glanced up at him. He smiled crookedly at her—the smile that made deep, endearing lines next to his sparkling eyes.

"Yes, I do," she promised, turning her face away to hide her own half smile. He kept hold of her hand, then pulled her up next to him as they kept walking.

"Truth is, I had to have you with me. Had to," he said.

"Oh, really? Why?" she asked, sighing again.

"I love that black dress, by the way. It really flatters your figure—"

"Why, Tony?" she cut in. He heaved a sigh of his own.

"Nick Fury. He scares me."

"What?" Pepper cried as they paused for a moment on a curb, waiting for a screeching cab to whiz around the corner. "That is the most ridiculous excuse—"

"No, it's true," Tony insisted as they stepped out onto the street with the rest of the throng. "I need you to protect me."

"Then why, may I ask, are we going to this meeting _alone_, without Happy or any other body guard?"

He gave her an indignant look, his frown lit up by the blue flash of a ten-foot screen.

"You think you need a _body guard _when you're with the _Iron Man_?" he pressed his hand to his chest, then shook his head and muttered: "I think I'm offended."

"Okay, that makes no sense," Pepper countered. "You're not afraid of the countless thugs running around this crime-infested city, but you _are _afraid of Nick Fury."

"I'm not afraid of him like _that," _Tony shot back, gesturing. "I'm afraid of his weird ideas."

Pepper glanced at him, watching his profile as they walked. Their pace had increased.

"What weird ideas?"

"Well, weird ideas like this one, for example," he answered.

"Tony, what's going on?" Pepper suddenly asked, gripping his fingers tighter.

"Nothing to worry about," he said lightly, jostling her hand. "Fury just wants to introduce us to a couple mutants."

Alarm shot through Pepper's body.

"_Mutants?"_

"This way!" Tony said, and tugged her down the grimy, noisy, packed stairs toward the subway.

TBC

_Review!_

_(Ahh…it's good to be back. ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Whoo! We've got a fair crew of readers already on board! EXCELLENT! So happy to hear from all of you, and I hope you continue to enjoy!_

_VVVVV_

TWO

"That was worse than going through French airport security," Pepper commented as she glanced back at the closing doors. Their shoes tapped against the white tile of the long, plain hallway as they lengthened their strides. Tony gave her a funny look.

"Since when have you ever had to go through security?"

Pepper laughed and adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder.

"Believe it or not, Tony Stark, I _did _have a life before I met you."

He faced forward and shook his head once.

"Impossible," he declared. She laughed again.

They reached the end of the hall, and Tony stepped ahead and pushed one of the double doors open. Pepper stepped through…

And her footsteps slowed.

They had entered what looked like a big work-out room—a boxing ring stood to her left, cages of basketballs and racks of weights lined the walls, and punching bags hung from the ceiling, along with the canister lights that illuminated the low-ceilinged space in a way that reminded Pepper of an old gymnasium. Metal pillars stood in their way, but at the far end of the room, she glimpsed a rectangular table, and two men sitting at it in folding chairs.

One, a tall, black-clad, broad-shouldered man, she recognized as Nick Fury—his one-eyed gaze cut across the distance—and he rose to his feet, and his long black coat rustled around his ankles. But Pepper noticed him only peripherally. The other person captured all her attention. As Tony came up beside Pepper, and they began to walk toward the others, her fixed gaze took all of him in.

He got up too, and he was _tall_. Over six feet. He was powerfully built, trim and cut—he wore boots, cargo pants, and a white t-shirt with a set of wings across the chest. He had neatly-combed, short sandy-blonde hair parted on the side, and utterly perfect features. Dark eyebrows that drew together in honest earnestness, a quiet, soft mouth, strong cheekbones, jawline and nose, and big, bright, blue-gray eyes with long eyelashes. He reminded Pepper of a lamb. Or a lion. Or both.

He was the handsomest man she'd ever seen.

"Wow…" Pepper whispered, her heart skipping a beat.

"Wow? Wow what?" Tony murmured, shooting her a look. Pepper blushed and ducked her head. Tony glanced back and forth between her and the stranger, and Pepper sensed his mood darken.

"Stark," Nick barked, stepping toward them. "Glad you could make it." He stuck out his big hand. Tony shook it.

"Happened to be in the neighborhood," Tony said, glancing the stranger up and down—Tony was considerably shorter.

"Miss Potts," Fury gave Pepper one of his rare smiles—the kind that was wide enough to wrinkle the scars around his eye patch—and shook her hand.

"Hi, Nick," she smiled in return. "Nice to see you again."

"So," Tony drew himself up and gestured to the blonde man. "Is this the mutant you were telling me about?"

"Tony!" Pepper gasped. The man frowned and looked at Tony.

"Way to start out with your foot in your mouth, Stark," Fury lifted an eyebrow, then turned to the new man. "No, this is your father's old friend, Captain Steve Rogers. Also known as Captain America."

Pepper stared, stunned. So did Tony.

"No way," Tony stated. "So you…_You're_ the guy the Russians found frozen in the arctic?"

"That's what they tell me. I don't really remember," Rogers answered, his gaze finding Tony's, then Pepper's. He had a middle-depth voice—plain and straightforward. Again, he turned to Tony and searched his face.

"You said…" he paused a moment, then pointed at Tony and raised his eyebrows. "Stark? The colonel says you're…You're Howard Stark's son?"

"Yeah, I…Yes," Tony nodded, looking at him sideways. His brow furrowed. "So you…You knew my—"

"You look like him," Rogers murmured, still studying Tony's face. Then, he laughed helplessly, and glanced at Fury. "I can't…" He turned back to Tony. "How old are you?"

Pepper blinked.

"Forty-six," Tony answered, a little stiffly. The remains of Rogers' smile disappeared, and he just stared at Tony.

"Forty-six," Rogers repeated. A bleak look came over his angelic face. "Your dad…" he said. He nodded once, took a breath and straightened. "He's a smart fella."

"He died," Tony said, then looked over at Pepper. His voice quieted, and he glanced down for a second. "Long time ago."

Rogers swallowed. Pepper watched him lose some of his color. She couldn't stand it anymore—she had to come to his rescue.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm a little lost," Pepper said politely, and smiled at Rogers. "I've heard of Captain America, of course, but I don't understand—"

"My apologies, Miss Potts," Nick frowned at Tony. "I thought Stark would have filled you in."

Tony cleared his throat, winced, and rubbed the back of his neck. Pepper still smiled.

"I usually have to find things out for myself," she said.

"Then come with me. I'll talk as we show you around," Fury motioned to another door. Rogers stepped out of the way.

"Ma'am," he inclined his head, indicating she ought to go ahead—and she saw the ghost of a smile on his face. She sweetened her own smile for him, and walked up beside Nick. She thought she might have heard Tony make a growling noise as he fell in behind her, and Rogers silently followed.

AAAAA

"This is it," Fury announced as they strode through double doors and out onto a platform. "The lab where the first American Super Soldier experiment was conducted—resulting in our friend Captain Rogers here."

Pepper halted next to Fury, clasped the railing and glanced over the edge. Her eyebrows slowly went up.

"We've made some changes," Nick added. "Where the sarcophagus-type case used to sit, surrounded by consoles, we've placed a 3-D holographic war board, as you can see." He turned and started down the clanking stairs. Pepper followed him, Tony and Rogers right behind. They came to the bottom, and Pepper slowed down to absorb it all.

The tall, dome-ceilinged room reminded her of Tony's lab—only much more organized. It was well-lit, and smelled like new plastic. Flashing screens and blinking consoles lined the walls, and in the center of the floor stood a huge table, its edges covered with buttons, its surface as black as a pond at night. A deep, quiet mechanical hum filled the air.

Pepper glanced back at Rogers. He stood with his hands in his pockets—he'd clearly been in here with Nick before, but his eyes had distance in them, unfocus. She opened her mouth—

"Here she is," Nick declared, bringing Pepper back around—

To a sight that jolted the smile off her face.

Natalie Rushman—or rather, Natasha Romanov—slipped into the far end of the room like a shadow. She had cut and straightened her flame-red hair, and she wore her nearly-skin tight black agent's wardrobe, complete with tall boots and a utility belt.

"Tasha! How's my girl?" Tony grinned and went straight to her, veering around Pepper and the corner of the war table as he went. Natasha smiled coyly, an expression that lit up her eyes, and she sauntered toward him, her curves swaying.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Stark."

Pepper cleared her throat, folded her arms, and looked somewhere else as Tony actually gave Natasha a hug.

"I thought _you _were his girl."

The quiet murmur made Pepper look up to her left. Rogers watched Tony and Natasha, then glanced down at Pepper, his brow furrowed. Pepper shrugged one shoulder.

"Well, he…" she swallowed, then forced herself to smile at him. "He has a lot of girls."

Rogers' forehead tightened further, and she saw a flicker of something behind his gray eyes before he crossed his arms and faced forward again.

"Agent Romanov has been here the whole of this past week, setting everything up," Fury said, waving the group closer to the war table and leaning on its edge.

"Really?" Tony turned back toward Fury, but kept his arm around Natasha's waist. He glanced at her. "So you're a technical genius as well as being gorgeous and dangerous, huh?"

"Ha," Natasha grinned and flashed her eyebrows at him, then easily pulled away from him and strode around the table, giving a pointed look up at Rogers as she passed. Pepper heard Rogers clear his throat again and shift—backward.

"Come over here, Stark," Fury instructed, following Natasha around the war board to the far corner of the room, where a huge screen stood, above a broad, blinking console. "We ordered this surveillance technology from Stark Industries, but it's been giving us a few funny readings. I want you to take a look."

"Okay, Fury," Tony rolled his eyes as he swung around the table. "If you just called me here for technical support, my fee is going to go way up…"

Pepper didn't follow them. Instead, she eased up toward the blank, obsidian surface of the war board, and gazed down at her reflection in it. Then, she realized that Rogers hadn't followed them either. He stepped up to the other side of her and braced his hands on the edge, looking down at his own flawless image.

"So…" Pepper began, keeping her voice down. "They made you in here?"

He glanced up at her, their eyes met, and he almost laughed.

"I suppose you could say that," he admitted, shrugging. "Before the experiment, I weighed ninety-two pounds, I was five feet tall, and I had just about everything physically wrong with me you can think of. Except my eyes were okay—I didn't need glasses. And my teeth were fairly straight."

Pepper gaped at him. When he saw her expression, he really did laugh—and Pepper had to do the same.

"I know—pretty hard to believe," he said.

"So what did they do to you?" Pepper asked, still in disbelief.

"Well," Rogers sighed, stood up, and put his hands in his pockets again, glancing around the room. "They injected me with…I dunno, felt like a gallon of serum. Then they closed me up tight in this body case and fed me raw energy—almost blinded me. But it sped up the growth in my muscles and bones and blood and everything. And when they let me out…" He met her gaze again, shrugged, and smiled crookedly. "There I was. I can heal pretty quickly, I can run about five times faster than the average guy, I can lift a truck, and my body regenerates constantly. Which is why I still look…well, halfway decent, even after all this time, I guess."

Pepper marveled at that understatement, trying not to run her eyes up and down him.

"And what was their plan for this project?" she wondered. "This was the Army, right?"

"Yeah, it was the Army," he nodded. "And they planned to make more of me. More super soldiers, to fight the Nazis and Hydra. Problem was…" his voice quieted, and his head lowered. "A Hydra agent had gotten in to see the experiment. He detonated a bomb, took the last vial of serum, and shot the doctor who'd invented it all." He paused a moment. "We got him, but the vial broke." He looked at her—and she saw depth, and sadness in his eyes. "So I'm the only one."

Pepper smiled kindly at him, forcibly ignoring Tony and Natasha's banter behind him.

"Well, maybe that was best," she said. "From what I've seen, superpowers don't always suit everybody."

He almost smiled again.

"Probably right."

"Holy crap," Tony yelped.

Pepper jerked. Rogers spun around.

Fury, Natasha and Tony all stood staring up at the screen, which displayed a map of the United States—

And a whirling, hurricane-like storm blooming over New Mexico.

"What is that?" Natasha demanded, glancing at Fury.

"It looks a lot like the weather satellite photos we got when the Cube was taken," Fury said, his black eyes fixed on the image. Then, he stepped forward and started pressing buttons on the console. Pepper, Rogers at her side, hurried around the war board and came up behind Natasha and Tony.

But as he stared up at the screen, Tony slowly shook his head.

"Nope. That's not it."

"What's not it?" Fury gritted.

"It's not the same," Tony clarified, pointing up at the image. "Look, the arms aren't as wide—it's not pulling from the lower atmosphere. It's starting up high and working its way down."

Fury paused, and looked over his shoulder at Tony.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I stared at the anomaly _you _are talking about for more than six hours, and this isn't it. This time—I dunno," Tony took a deep breath, then met Fury's gaze. "We might have the real thing."

Fury paused for just a second, then straightened and pulled out his cell phone from his coat pocket.

"I'm calling Agent Coulson," he said, dialing. "He's in that neck of the woods. Have him go find out what's going on."

"He'll be thrilled," Natasha said flatly, folding her arms. Fury put the phone to his ear.

"He usually is." He waited a moment, then drew himself up. "Coulson? We have a situation."

AAAAA

The young woman in the full-length reflection wore a green cloth and black leather tunic, a long, flowing split skirt, trousers and riding boots beneath, and flashing, graceful silver bracers bound around her forearms. Her long, shining brown hair hung loose, except for the single emerald and diamond barrette that pinned up the left side. She had brilliant, long-lashed dark eyes, and a face that had been called beautiful more than once—especially when she smiled, as she did now.

But she was still short—which was obvious when her golden-headed, winsome mother-in-law came up behind her, wrapped her arms loosely all the way around her daughter-in-law's neck, resting her elbows on her shoulders, and leaning the sides of their heads together.

Jane Foster-Odinson sighed, smiled at Frigg's burnished reflection, reached up and gently took hold of Frigg's forearms.

"So…" Frigg's deep, warm voice asked, as her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. "When are you going to tell him?"

Jane giggled and squeezed Frigg's arms.

"Not _yet_, for the hundredth time!" she cried. "I swear, Frigg, you're as relentless as both your sons put together."

Frigg laughed, which warmed all her features, and kissed Jane's cheek. She let go of Jane, and picked up a gold brush from the nearby vanity, and ran it through the back of Jane's long tresses, a half smile remaining on her face.

"I'll tell him when we get back," Jane promised, lifting her left hand to absentmindedly twirl her wedding ring. "When he finally has the bifrost project off his mind."

"Careful," Frigg warned, sliding her long fingers through Jane's hair. "He might find out before you have a chance to tell him."

Jane's eyes flashed, and she sought out Frigg's reflection. Frigg glanced up.

"How?" Jane demanded. "You'd tell him?"

"No, of course not!" Frigg cried, still brushing. "But he has a sense about these things. He could always tell, even as a little boy."

Jane's hand settled on her abdomen.

"How?" she wondered quietly. Frigg's smile turned soft and affectionate.

"You'll have to ask him."

Before Jane could press her further, a distant bell rang. Frigg's head came up.

"Oh, my goodness," she gasped, setting the brush down with a clatter. "Hurry, child! We'll both be late and Odin will have our heads!"

Letting out a ringing laugh, Jane hustled toward the door. Frigg quickly followed, hiking up her long blue skirt so she would not trip—and together they swept out into the towering, golden halls of Asgard.

AAAAA

"_There _you are." Sif canted her head and widened her black eyes at Jane as she hurried up to her side, out of breath.

"Sorry," Jane panted, straightening her hair again and adjusting her belt. She glanced around at the vast, white marble hallway, and the two huge wooden double doors that stood in front of them. She frowned. "Is this where we're supposed to be?"

"Yes, of course," Sif said, as put-together as always in her rugged leather warrior garb, complete with sword. She eyed Jane. "You're looking flushed, Princess."

"Oh," Jane smiled reflexively. "I just…Frigg and I had to run. Didn't want to be late."

Sif looked at her sideways and lifted an eyebrow, but a smile hid in the edge of her comely mouth. She knew Jane too well already.

"What is it?" Sif asked slyly. Jane stifled a grin and clasped her hands in front of her.

"Nothing. Nothing, nothing."

"Come, you must tell me," Sif pressed.

"Later," Jane promised pointedly, then glanced at the door. "Don't you think we should go? We're already late."

Sif rolled her eyes and groaned.

"Fine," she muttered, reached out and heaved on the brass handle of the left hand door.

Afternoon sun poured in, making Jane flinch away, then blink rapidly to try and adjust.

And when she could finally see the scenery before her, awe and joy swelled through her whole being—just as it always did.

A huge marble courtyard, flanked by alabaster pillars hung with flowering vines, stood flooded with golden sunlight. Beyond it waited the arrow-straight, white road, guarded by golden statues as tall as mountains—and far, far beyond that stood the edge of the gray sea, threaded through by the glittering Asbru bridge. Gulls darted through the pristine blue sky above, chattering and crying as they fluttered, and past the few silver clouds waited the glimmer of stars, and the distant glow of rainbow-colored galaxies. The air smelled of lilies, with just a hint of ocean spray. A breath of wind caught Jane's hair and skirt, and ruffled it, as if in greeting.

And there, in the middle of the courtyard, waited two gleaming, bedecked stallions—one white, one bay—and their masters.

Beside the white one stood the towering Thor in his flashing silver armor, spilling scarlet cape and gleaming helmet, Mjollnir tucked into his belt. His golden-bearded face turned toward them, sending shafts of light leaping from the wings of his helmet, and he beamed at Jane and Sif. His sapphire eyes sparkled.

"Finally!" he rumbled, like the good-natured growl of a bear. "We were wondering if the two of you had decided to make us go alone!"

"Nonsense," came another, smoother, elegant tone. "You have no patience at all."

Jane's eyes found the speaker—one just as tall as Thor, wearing silvery-gold armor, a multi-faceted, feature-fitting helmet with tall, arching horns, and the deepest emerald cape. Her heart leaped. His vibrant green eyes found her, pinned her to the spot, and his soft, eloquent mouth formed a smile that belonged to only her. His dark eyebrows flashed, and he strode toward her, his boots making no noise, his cape flowing behind him.

Her heart hammered as he came to tower over her. He slid his strong left arm around her waist and pulled her tight to his armored chest.

"There is punishment, however," he hissed, his nose inches from hers. "For being late."

"Loki—" she tried. But he didn't let her finish.

He pressed his lips deeply against hers, sending electricity shooting through her whole body. He pulled back just to meet her mouth again, and her hands weakly reached up to cradle the sides of his helmet. Her face filled with heat, and scattered ideas clattered around in her head, but she could _never _think when he did this…

A sharp _snap_ and a soft ringing sound jerked her senses.

Loki's lips lingered deliciously on hers, then broke reluctantly. She forced her hazy eyes open to see his right eyebrow arch dangerously as he glanced to his right. Then, as she glanced over her husband's shoulder, she realized that Thor had used a scarf as a whip and snapped Loki's horns.

"What was that?" Loki asked coolly, still holding Jane to his chest. Sif covered her mouth, her eyes dancing. Thor rolled the red scarf around his hand and gestured to them.

"You're not newlyweds anymore—there's no need for all that," he scolded.

"Oh, didn't you know, brother?" Loki cocked his head. "My sole purpose in life is to irritate you."

Thor gave him a withering glare. Loki stuck his tongue out at him.

Jane snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth. Loki grinned with delight.

"Come on, you two idiots," Thor muttered, climbing astride his horse and grabbing the reins. The horse tossed his proud head and pranced on the stone—Thor reached down and grabbed Sif's forearm, and she swung up behind him.

Jane, slipping her hand into Loki's and squeezing it, walked with him toward his horse. She lightly bumped him with her shoulder.

"So what was all that?"

He glanced innocently down at her. She gave him a pointed look.

"What?" he wondered. "You were made to be kissed—and since I'm the only man allowed to kiss you for the rest of eternity, I've decided you shall be kissed often, and well."

Jane blushed.

"And…it helps if it irritates Thor?" she added.

"Exactly," Loki said, reaching down and picking her up by the waist and lifting her into the saddle. Then, he climbed up behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She handed him the reins, and settled back against him as he urged their mount into a clattering trot, following their grinning companions past the gate and out of the courtyard.

"But you're not just irritating him, are you?" Jane realized as they passed the flashing pillars. "You're trying to make a point."

"Whatever do you mean, dear heart?" Loki said, and she could hear his smirk. Then he sighed. "All right, you found me out. I'm trying to get it into Thor's thick head that he needs to _show _Sif sometimes. In front of people, if he must. _Especially _in front of people. She can't just _know _how he feels—she can't read his mind."

Jane frowned as they passed the pillars, and entered a broader, busier street, overflowing with light and color and noise. A gust of wind caught them, and ruffled the horse's mane.

"He doesn't, does he?" she murmured.

She felt Loki shake his head.

Jane moaned and leaned her head back on his shoulder. He laughed.

"Don't worry. We'll outfox them yet."

Jane chuckled.

"Meanwhile," he said, in a firmer, louder tone as he straightened in the saddle, and the sea breeze blew more eagerly. "I cannot _wait _to show you what I've been doing all these months."

TBC

_Review!_


	3. Chapter 3

_I delight in all your reviews! Thank you! Also, check out my brother's cinema-quality trailer for Fallen Star on youtube! If you type in "Fallen Star Loki," you should be able to find it! It's fantastic! Promise! _

_For the first section, I listened to the Thor soundtrack "Ride to the Observatory," and then the "Destiny In Space Theme." _

_Thanks, and enjoy!_

_VVVV_

THREE

The crowd, packed onto either side of the bridge just before the towering gold sentinels, cheered and whistled as the two steeds trotted right into their midst. Einar's bridle jingled and his hooves clattered against the weathered white stone, his strong body jogging beneath Loki and Jane as he tugged against his bit. Loki leaned just to his left, around Jane's head, watching Thor and Sif so he could keep pace.

Thousands of bright-eyed courtiers and commoners alike, all dressed in flowing, multi-colored robes, their hair bedecked with wreathes of flowers, clapped, grinned, shouted and tossed petals in the air as the royal horses passed by. The sun blazed straight overhead, enlivening every scarlet and violet and amber and sapphire to its most vivid shade, and touching everything with a sheen of glowing gold.

Loki half smiled and closed his right eye as several plump, giggling young women hurled fistfuls of rose petals at his head. Jane yelped, then laughed, bringing her hand up to protect her face as the soft bits of flower rained across them.

Thor's flashing form pulled back on his own reins as the two horses drew near the mountain-sized iron gates.

Thor glanced over at Loki as they drew up next to him and Sif. Loki met Thor's brilliant eyes, and Thor winked at him. Loki hid his smile, and lifted his head to gaze at the solid, twisted ironsmithery of the ageless gate.

He sensed the crowd close in behind them, and settle. Then, Thor's mighty voice thundered through the quiet.

"Heimdall!" he called. "Open the Asbru Bridge!"

Silence fell. Loki waited. Jane went still.

Then, the great gates heaved apart.

The crowd exploded. Billions more petals shot into the air and showered down across them, and cheers deafened them.

Memories flooded Loki's mind—memories of him and Thor, standing just here, on the threshold of their very first adventure together. Then, more vibrant images—of Nornheim and Midgard and Jotunheim and even Niffelheim—all rushing through his blood and roaring in his ears even louder than the masses. Loki winked back at Thor. His brother grinned. He remembered.

The gates clanged into place. The two horses pranced and snorted, champing at their bits. Sif wrapped her arms tight around Thor's waist and lowered her head, narrowing her eyes. Thor gripped his reins and took a deep breath.

"Hang on," Loki murmured in Jane's ear. Jane grabbed Einar's mane—

Thor let out a bellowing roar—and his stallion leaped forward.

Einar needed no other invitation. He lunged after, galloping through the gates and flashing through the light and shadow cast by the mighty sentinels.

The two horses charged forward, neck-and-neck, their thundering hooves sending flashes of light blazing up from the rainbow surface of the Asbru. In an instant, they cleared the sentinels, and the vast sky opened up before them—rolling clouds, then galaxies, nebula and glittering stars. Ahead of them stretched the gray ocean, whose near horizon frothed and foamed right where the Asbru ended. The scent of salt, and a spring gust filled Loki's lungs as his wind-swift horse strained to overtake Thor's.

Thor let out a rumbling laugh as the waves flashed by on either side of them, and the Bifrost gate rose up before them. Loki pressed closer to Jane, letting her hair banner out over his right shoulder.

Finally, the great bronze globe stood in front of them—completely new—gleaming with the golden sunlight from behind and the silver starlight from above. And, waiting for them at its door, stood three figures.

In the center, like a golden beech, stood Heimdall the gatekeeper, his ethereal eyes watching them all the while they approached. To his left, like an oak, dressed in flowing white, waited Odin All-Father, half smiling. And on Heimdall's right, as a patient chestnut, her hands folded, her blue dress and sunshine hair fluttering in the wind, Frigg cast a warm look over all of them.

Both brothers checked their horses' speed, and they pranced to a halt. Thor hopped down first, thudded to the bridge, and snatched up the reins. Sif dismounted on her own. Loki sighed at his brother, slid down, then turned to help Jane, holding his arms out to her. She slipped sideways on the saddle and took hold of his shoulders as he wrapped his hands around her waist. He lifted her slender form easily off the horse, and set her down on the bridge. She flashed a breathless grin up at him. He held her for a moment, then they all turned and stepped toward the king and queen.

Loki glanced at his brother, then knelt beside him on the glittering surface. Both of them pulled off their helmets and set them by their knees. Thor's long golden hair tumbled down—and Loki's shoulder-length, raven hair covered his collar. Jane got on her knees beside him, and Sif did the same on the other side of Thor.

Loki felt long, delicate fingers reach down and stroke the crown of his head. He smiled.

"So you are still joining your brother in his rebellion against haircuts," Frigg murmured. Loki glanced up at her, letting his smile broaden.

"I would never rebel against you, Mother," he answered quietly.

"Of course you wouldn't," she almost smirked, then stepped back and glanced at Odin.

"Loki Odinson," Odin said, stepping closer. Loki lifted his face, his smile fading.

"You have rebuilt the Bifrost of Asgard," Odin said, his voice deep and even, his gray eye fixed on Loki. "You, with your mastery of magic and your knowledge of the passages between realms, have made travel through the stars once again possible. You have done so with raw ingenuity and resourcefulness, refusing to accept help from the power of the tesseract or any other weapon in our possession. And for that…" Odin paused, holding Loki's gaze. "I am proud of you."

Loki's throat closed. He didn't move, and he couldn't see anything but his father's weather-beaten face. Then, he felt Jane squeeze his fingers hard, and Thor's smile glowed in the corner of his eye.

Odin drew himself up.

"And who do you choose to take with you on this, the first journey made possible by this new Bifrost bridge?"

Loki took a breath, and managed to find his voice.

"I choose my brother, Prince Thor Odinson—whose life I carry and who carries my life." He met Thor's gaze—and Thor's lion-like face softened and warmed. Loki gave him a quiet smile. Then, Loki turned to Jane, whose quick brown eyes watched him. He took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers. "I also choose my wife, Princess Jane Foster-Odinson, whose heart I carry and who carries my heart." He paused, running his eyes over her features. Then, he turned and met Sif's dark eyes.

"And I choose my ally, Lady Sif, who carries my trust, and whose trust I carry." He took a breath, and faced his parents again. "I would not depart this realm without them. Nor would I traverse any other if they were not by my side."

"So be it," Odin declared, straightening his shoulders. "Prince Loki: May your journey be fruitful, may your passage be swift and unhindered, and may you return in time for the feast your mother has prepared, where you will be honored before all of Asgard and its people."

Frigg leaned toward Loki, and whispered:

"He cannot _wait _to give you your gift."

Loki blinked, and caught his father watching their exchange with a twinkle in his eye. Loki tried not to grin.

Together, the four of them got to their feet, and Thor and Loki put their helmets back on. Odin gestured toward the Bifrost room—and nodded to Loki.

Taking another deep breath, Loki gripped Jane's hand and strode inside.

Their feet tapped on the perfect black surface. Quiet power vibrated the air. Loki glanced down at Jane as her wide eyes swept the room.

"You did this?" she gasped. "You built this?"

"The room is nothing," Thor interrupted, striding up beside them. He raised his eyebrows and pointed at her. "What matters is what it can _do_."

Loki shot him a look and raised a languid eyebrow.

"You don't like my décor?"

Thor glanced around and shrugged.

"Too much green."

"That's my favorite color," Jane said.

"No accounting for taste," Sif said, coming up next to Thor and giving him a sideways smile.

"No, there certainly isn't," Loki said frankly.

"Lords and ladies," Heimdall interrupted. "May I beg you to take your positions before the gate?"

"Come," Loki pulled Jane around the tall center console, which was illuminated by a shaft of overhead light, to stand in front of the gate door—the door that would open like the pupil of an eye.

Thor came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Loki, Sif just beside him. Loki's heartbeat sped up, and he took a shaking breath.

"Here we go," Sif murmured. Loki saw Thor grin.

"Where are we headed?" Jane wondered. Loki allowed himself a small smile, but didn't look at her.

"Take care, my loves!" Frigg called.

"Are you ready?" Heimdall asked. Loki stared at the door and tried to calm his hammering pulse. If this didn't work…

"Yes," he nodded.

"Very well," Heimdall said—

And the _shink _of his great sword blade sliding down into place rang through the room.

Lightning leaped out of the console, dancing through the air, sliding against the walls and rippling against the floor. Jane hugged closer to Loki, taking hold of his arm with both hands. Loki took three deep breaths. Thor and Sif shifted their weight from foot to foot, as if they stood on the starting line of a race.

Then, the metal door swished effortlessly open—

And a whirling blue wormhole, violent and rushing and pulsing as a tornadic wind, dominated their view.

"Safe journey," Heimdall bid them.

And, with a hissing blast, the four of them shot out of the gate room and into the swirling blue and black oblivion.

AAAAA

Jane couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't feel anything besides this ripping, tearing rushing blue wind that raged through her clothes and hair and beat her body. She thought Loki still held her hand, but she had to squeeze her eyes shut against the freezing air and the blinding light, so she wasn't sure. She tried to draw a breath—couldn't. Tried again. Couldn't. Panic grabbed her chest—

_Boom_.

Impact shuddered through her, clouds rolled all around her…

She opened her eyes.

She stood on solid ground. Sand, and settling dirt.

Jane sucked in a breath. Her eyes watered, clouding her vision, but…

This looked familiar.

The dusky gray landscape, the horizon that glowed deep pink, the sky above tinged with dark purple, and far, far overhead, in the depths of the sky…

The piercing stars of the Big Dipper.

Her hand flew to her mouth. Then, she whirled toward Loki—

To see him grinning at her.

"This…This is New Mexico!" she gasped.

He laughed.

"It seemed only fair," he answered, holding his hands out to the sides. "Since you left in such a hurry—I didn't really give you a chance to arrange anything, did I?"

She flung her arms around his neck. He caught her, and held her close. She pulled back and kissed his forehead, then his cheek, then his lips, where she pressed deep, three times.

"I _will _beat you to death if you don't stop that," Thor warned from somewhere behind him.

"I don't think they can help it," Sif muttered.

"They'd better _learn _to help it," he growled.

Loki grinned against Jane's lips, and she backed up to look at his pale, handsome face.

"Thank you," she whispered. His eyes sparkled.

"My pleasure." He set her down, her heels thudding against the dirt.

"If we are going to see Erik Selvig, we ought to get moving," Thor advised, glancing toward the soft lights on the horizon. "We don't want to bother him after he's gone to bed."

"Since when has that stopped you?" Sif wondered, sweeping past him. Thor chuckled.

"Erik?" Jane repeated, her heart leaping as her gaze darted across all their faces. "We get to see Erik?"

"That's the reason we came!" Thor said brightly.

"All right, we'll go," Loki sighed, then squinted at the horizon. "But we'll come back in the morning."

Jane frowned.

"What? Why?"

He smiled secretively, then flashed his eyebrows.

"What?" she demanded. But he turned, and strode through the dirt after his brother and Sif, his long cape fluttering, his horned helmet glinting.

"Loki, that isn't fair," she protested, hurrying after him. "You know I can't stand it when you know something I don't!"

But he didn't answer, except to laugh out loud.

AAAAA

As Jane strode down the middle of the empty main street of Puente Antiguo next to Loki, and led by Thor and Sif, she had to fight not to break into a run. Her heart beat faster as she caught sight of each familiar building, lit by the street lights.

"Look! There's Hank's Bar!" she cried, grinning as she seized Loki's hand and pointed off to her right. "Where those guys grabbed my hair and your hands turned blue—"

Thor glanced back over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"None of your business," Loki answered lightly, clasping Jane's hand and swinging it back and forth. Sif just laughed.

"And…And there's Isabella's!" Jane gasped, pulling loose of Loki and trotting around the others to hop up onto the sidewalk. She stood speechless for a moment in front of the diner, running her eyes across the gleaming new windows, straight awning, fresh paint, and hanging "Closed" sign in the door. Jane whirled and grinned at the others who had paused in the middle of the street.

"Thor!" she laughed. "Does it look the same?"

Thor studied the building for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face.

"Yes. Yes, I believe it does." He barked out a laugh. "Except I doubt they kept the crater my mug made in the floor."

Jane laughed again, feeling light-headed, as she spun around to take in the whole of Main Street.

"It's completely restored," she said, almost to herself. "Like nothing ever happened…"

She stayed still for a second, as the night wind caught her hair and clothes, her attention caught on a blue, two-door car that stood parked next to Hank's. An ugly dent marked its door.

A car. How long had it been since she'd seen a car…?

She blinked, coming back to herself.

And whirled around.

She broke into a run, leaving the others behind—then heard their footsteps follow.

"Jane?" Sif called, but Jane didn't answer or look back. She raced down the shadowed sidewalk, the streetlamps flashing overhead, her boots pounding, her split-skirt flapping. She veered around a corner and leaped off the curb, and her feet met crunching gravel. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears as she could finally make it out against the dark sky:

The revamped service station, its pinnacle glowing with neon blue lights, its windows reflecting the dim illumination from the street—

And a softer glow coming from somewhere inside.

Jane raced across the parking, and skidded to a stop in front of the door. With shaking hands, she reached out and tugged on the cold handle—

The door gave way. She gasped. Then, she lunged inside.

"Erik?" she called. Her voice echoed in the quiet. A single fluorescent light above the counter showed her enough of the room for her to recognize it—the white, L-shaped couch with a coffee table in front of it, the eating table, the fridge, and the dozens of blinking computers crowding around the rest of the space. Everything was steeped in shadow. She clenched her hands into fists, her heart wanting to jump out of her chest.

"Erik?" she shouted again.

For half a moment, everything stood still.

Then, shuffling issued from the back room, and a familiar form wearing a high-collared sweater, jeans and boots stepped out into the half-light.

Startled gray eyes met hers, and his rugged brow furrowed tight.

"Jane?" he rasped. Tears sprang to her eyes. She beamed at him.

"Hi, Erik."

He rushed to her. She threw her arms around him and he crushed her to him.

"Oh, Jane!" he choked. "Jane, I thought you were dead!"

She laughed brokenly in his ear, and shook her head hard.

"No, no, I'm fine!" she assured him. He set her down and she took fistfuls of his sweater sleeves, breathing hard. He swept the hair out of her face, his gaze running all over her.

"I can't believe you're here!" Jane cried.

"I wanted to be here in case you came back," Erik answered. "I didn't want you to…What…What happened?" he demanded. "Where did you go? Where have you been?"

Jane sniffed, trying to control herself.

"Well, it's a long story—"

"Why didn't you contact me sooner?" he wanted to know, taking hold of her arms. "What stopped you from…" He trailed off as a shaft of light glinted off the jeweled ring on her left hand. He stared at it, his eyebrows coming together. Then, he met her eyes.

"Did you get _married?"_

Jane burst out laughing, covered her mouth, then shakily swiped at her eyes.

"Erik, you won't believe any of this, but…" She stopped as Sif, Thor, and finally Loki, shouldered into the lab and stood three abreast—the men imposing and broad in their armor, and about eight feet tall including the spans of their glimmering helmets—looking utterly out of place. Jane kept hold of Erik with one hand, and gestured to the others.

"Erik, this is Lady Sif—I think you met briefly…"

Erik, still frowning, nodded at Sif, who gave him a flicker of a smile and nodded back.

"And this is…Ha, well…Thor," Jane chuckled, swiping at her eyes again.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Erik Selvig," Thor declared, grinning and stepping forward to grasp Erik's hand.

"Yah," Erik managed to nod.

"And this," Jane met Loki's waiting green eyes as he hung back in the half dark, his hands clasped in front of him. "Is Prince Loki Odinson. My husband."

Jane locked on Erik's face, certain that astonishment would flood his expression. Instead, he smiled slowly, and nodded.

"Good to see you."

"Wait," Jane started, glancing back and forth between them. "Wait you…You don't seem surprised that he's not—"

Erik's smile broadened, and he cast her a glance.

"Actually," he admitted. "I knew it the whole time."

AAAAA

Loki leaned on the doorframe, motionless. He had taken off his helmet, and it now sat on a nearby table. His gaze wandered through the room.

Minutes after their arrival, Erik had turned on all the lights, so everything in the lab now stood out bright and clear and Loki could see it. The couch—his couch—in the corner, the small kitchen, the rows of computers, the long table where Jane would sit and work on star charts, the coffee table piled with battered volumes of Tolkien and Norse myths…

Loki's heart beat unevenly as he stood, completely still, and apart. And he couldn't smile.

He stood knee-deep in memories. Memories of a late night spent laughing over a

children's book—laughing so hard he and Jane had almost hurt themselves; of tea and cream swirling in an ivory-white cup; of soft brown eyes watching his, of long black eyelashes fluttering; her smile that startled the silence; the way she absently ran her fingers through her hair as she read aloud; the gentle rise and fall of her voice as she hummed an old song while preparing supper; the way her winsome form moved effortlessly through the lab as her thoughts clearly drifted elsewhere…

But those memories lodged inside him, stark and distant.

Because he'd seen Jane's face as she looked at Isabella's. He saw her eyes go distant, as if she was watching a scene replaying...

That instant, his stride had hitched, his gaze sharpened—and something inside him had snagged.

And then she had run off into the darkness, leaving them behind…

"It wasn't our idea to fly—it was actually Tony Stark's," Jane was telling Erik, sitting down in the crook of the couch next to him, her long Asgardian skirts draping across the seat.

"Stark? You used his plane?" Erik asked. She nodded.

"He called us, gave us an idea of where the Cube might be, and told us we could use his plane. We landed in Jasper in the middle of the night—it was freezing."

"I'll bet it was."

"This is interesting—I have never heard _you_ tell this story, Jane," Thor commented, drawing near them and sitting down on the left side of the couch. He draped his left arm across the back, somehow managing to appear completely comfortable despite his heavy dress armor.

"We stayed in a little hotel next to the airport," Jane continued. "Got up the next day and walked toward the mountains, in the snow."

Sif eased down on the far right end of the couch, where Loki had once rested his head when he slept. She tucked one leg under her, and her posture mirroring Thor's.

"Why did you walk?" Thor wanted to know, glancing back at Loki. Jane almost looked at Loki, then addressed both Thor and Erik.

"We knew that whoever had taken the Cube knew how to use magic. Loki didn't want to draw attention to us." She looked at Loki again. He returned her gaze, but just raised his eyebrows. She turned back to Erik.

"It took a couple days," she went on. "But we finally came to a big metal door in the side of the mountain."

"That's usually where the trouble starts," Sif noted, exchanging smiles with Thor. Loki shifted and crossed his arms. Jane focused on Erik.

"We went inside, and were captured, and dragged to the main room, which was filled with all sorts of technical equipment," Jane said. "_Then_ we were introduced to the man in charge."

"And…" Erik leaned toward her. "Who was it?"

Jane's mouth twitched.

"Victor Von Doom."

Erik's eyebrows shot up.

"Doom? _Really?_" he cried. "He wasn't even on SHIELD's list—they were convinced it was Loki!"

Thor laughed heartily. Loki shifted again, uncomfortable.

"What happened then?" Erik pressed. Jane took a breath.

"Loki did the talking, trying to force Doom to give up the Cube. But Doom wasn't interested. He tried to make a deal. Loki refused. So…" Jane paused. Her glance flickered to Loki's for an instant.

Loki straightened, poised to pick up the narration himself. But then Jane drew up and took another breath.

"The two of them fought. Loki used an ice casket from Jotunheim to freeze Doom in place, and then he took the Cube—but the Cube's pedestal had been rigged to collapse the mountain if the Cube was taken." Jane squeezed her hands together. "We barely made it out in time—Loki transported out right as the ceiling fell down on us."

Loki mentally staggered, staring at her. Then, he pinned his gaze on Thor, waiting for his brother to blunder in and remind her of the pints of her blood that had soaked Loki's clothing as he dragged her, half dead, into the healing rooms at Asgard—

Thor frowned hard, and opened his mouth—

"Where is the Cube now?" Erik asked.

"Odin has it," Jane answered. "He's keeping it safe—which we all think is best."

Loki swallowed, his gaze returning to her as his mind spun.

She had left it out. She had left out the most important part: the fact that Doom had shot her, and Loki had saved her. It had nearly torn him in half, but he had risked everything—_everything_—to salvage her life.

And now that she had left it out, there was no graceful way for him to let Erik know that.

Jane paused, beamed at Erik, and scooted closer to him, taking hold of his hand. Her eyes sparkled. "And…I finally saw it."

"Saw what?" Erik wondered. Jane's voice grew quiet.

"Asgard."

Erik said nothing for a long moment.

"You did?" he finally murmured. She nodded, letting out a breathless laugh.

"Loki took me there—he can travel without a gate, you know—and I've seen all of it." Her eyebrows drew together, her voice lowering to an earnest whisper. "It's like no place you've ever seen, Erik. The palace, the gardens, the fountains, the ocean…" She laughed again, and ducked her head. "But they have this law that no mortal can stay there longer than two weeks unless they get married to an Aesir, so…I had to think of something quick." She shot a playful look at Thor. "_Thor_ wouldn't have me—"

Thor's laughter roared through the room, and Jane and Sif joined in. Jane gestured to Loki, grinning.

"So I got Loki to marry me instead—and I got to stay."

Erik caught up her graceful left hand, studying her ring.

"It's a beautiful stone," he commented, a sadly affectionate look on his face. He met her eyes. "Congratulations, Jane."

Loki turned away, staring out the window into the dark. Thor, Jane, Erik and Sif's conversation wandered to descriptions of Asgard, the protocol of an Aesir wedding, and the rebuilding of the Asbru Gate. Loki suddenly couldn't follow it.

But then, Erik moved in his seat, and caught Loki's eye.

"Loki," he said, and motioned to him. Loki's head came around, and he gritted his teeth. So suddenly Erik thought he could use just his _given _name?

"Why don't you come and sit down?" Erik bid. "I haven't heard your two cents worth concerning any of this."

Loki stayed where he was, and canted his head.

"I don't see what I could add," he said coolly. "My wife has explained everything so thoroughly."

Jane sat up and frowned, but he didn't look at her.

"I'm just curious to hear your side, especially the part when Jane found out the truth about you," Erik said, chuckling. Loki's gut went tight.

"SHIELD and I have been searching the _planet_ for you two," Erik declared. "Fury has been pretty upset about the whole thing—especially when Tony Stark confessed that he'd sent you all by yourselves to Jasper, Canada to chase after some unknown, multinational thief." Erik let out another laugh. "I swear, if he didn't have that armored suit, Fury would have killed him."

"It was none of SHIELD's business," Loki answered. "I am an Aesir and a prince of Asgard. I can take care of my own."

Erik sobered. Thor, Sif and Jane watched him, frowning, but Loki didn't move his eyes from Erik. Erik's brow furrowed.

"I didn't say that you couldn't."

Jangling cut the air. The Aesir jerked. Erik half stood up and dug in his pocket, and pulled out a cell phone.

"Hello?" he asked as soon as he'd pressed it to his ear. Then, he grinned.

"Hi, Darcy. How's that senior project coming?"

Jane sat straight up.

"Darcy?" she yelped.

Erik put his finger in his free ear and nodded.

"Yeah…Yeah, good. I'm good, too. Hey, Darcy—I've got someone who wants to talk to you. Okay, here she is."

Jane pulled the phone away from him right away. But then she had to take a moment to gather herself before she could speak.

"Darcy? Hi. It's me. It's Jane."

Silence.

Then, Jane pulled the phone away from her ear as an audible shriek issued from the phone. Sif's eyes went wide, Thor bellowed in amusement, and both Erik and Jane grinned with unbridled affection.

"Yeah, yeah, it's me," Jane said, easing the phone back to her ear. "How are you?"

Loki couldn't make out any of Darcy's words, but he could hear her babbling excitedly for several minutes—he wondered how it was possible to say that much without taking a breath. Jane, still grinning, managed to insert a word once in a while, and then, when Darcy subsided a moment to actually let her questions be _answered_, Jane started at the beginning again, telling the story exactly as she'd just told Erik.

And she left it out again.

Loki stopped listening. He left the doorway and moved to the far corner of the room to Jane's table, which was still covered with three star charts of the Milky Way galaxy. But his eyes wouldn't focus.

Out of the corner of his attention, he saw Erik lean back, basking in the sound of Jane and Darcy's conversation. Sif, eyebrow raised, picked up The Hobbit from the pile of books and began thumbing through its pages. Thor got to his feet, his cape rustling, and meandered through the room, studying the computer screens and the dark windows. Finally, he wandered toward Loki, and came to stand beside him. Loki stared down at the charts.

"Jane did not tell Erik or Darcy that she was hurt," Thor murmured. Loki reached out and pushed one star chart aside, pretending to look at the one beneath it.

"Hm," Loki said. "I didn't notice."

Thor took a breath, gazing back at the couch.

"Perhaps she doesn't think it matters now," Thor said. Loki's head came up. Thor turned and met his eyes, and gave him a casual smile.

"Thor…" Sif interrupted. "What is that?"

Loki glanced at her—she had gone still where she sat, her frame rigid. She stared out the front windows.

Loki and Thor turned around. A pair of headlights bounced through the dark, coming toward them.

"Um, Darcy?" Jane said quietly. "I'll have to call you back."

Loki's eyes narrowed. The form of the car flashed through a streetlight—it was a black sedan.

He moved.

He swept around the table, strode to the couch and stood in front of Jane. He felt her rise to her feet. He reached back and grabbed her forearm.

Thor strode in front of them all, and hefted Mjollnir in his right hand.

They waited.

The car halted right outside. The lights went off. The door opened, then slammed shut.

A man strode toward the front door, pulled it open, and stepped inside.

Thor's arm went limp.

"Son of Coul?"

Loki blinked.

Then, Agent Coulson, dressed as always in his sharp black suit and tie, stepped around Thor's bulk and cast a calm glance over all five of them. At last, his attention settled on Erik, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Am I too late for pizza?"

TBC

_Review!_

_And don't forget to look at the trailer for "Fallen Star"! Just type in "Fallen Star Loki" on youtube!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Aaah! Sorry for the long delay! There was school, and life, and school, and aaack! HOWEVER, this is a nice long chapter, so I hope you all enjoy it!_

_VVVVV_

FOUR

"Coulson!" Erik exclaimed, getting up. "What are you doing out here?"

Coulson nodded at Erik.

"Hello, Dr. Selvig—I'm here on business." He glanced at Thor. "I'm surprised to see you again, Prince Thor." Coulson looked up at Loki. "Seeing Fenris surprises me a little more."

Jane reached up and pressed her hand to Loki's upper arm. He stiffly glanced down at her and let go of her forearm. She slipped around him. The agent faced her—and only a slight flicker in his eyes showed that he was caught off guard, probably by her wardrobe.

"Miss Foster," he smiled, holding out his hand.

"Ha, well, I'm…" Jane stammered, smiling and shaking his hand. She gestured to Loki. "I'm actually married now."

Coulson glanced up at Loki.

"That doesn't surprise me," he said. Erik laughed from behind them.

"How should I address you, then?" Coulson asked her. Jane looked up at Loki, uncertain. He met her eyes, and his mouth went tight.

"Princess Jane," Thor cut in, putting Mjollnir back into his belt. "But most of us in Asgard call her Lady Jane, out of habit."

Coulson clasped his hands in front of him and faced her.

"Your husband get a promotion, Lady Jane?"

Jane's chest went tight—Coulson's eyes bored into her. Loki stood stiff.

"In full truth…" Sif said slowly, her belt jingling as she got up. "Her title is Queen Jane Laufeyson of Jotunheim…and Princess Jane Odinson of Asgard…" Jane felt her turn hesitantly toward her. "…also."

Silence fell. Jane heard Erik step closer as Coulson glanced at all of them, one at a time.

"I believe there's been a slight miscommunication," he said. Then he turned to Loki. "Why don't we start over with you telling me your _real _name."

Jane risked a glance up at Loki's pale profile and long mane of black hair. His bearing turned as cold as a coiled snake.

"I am Prince Loki," he said in a low tone, his eyebrows drawn and hawk-like. "Son of Odin."

"So you lied before, when you told us your name was Fenris," Coulson clarified.

"Yes," Loki said precisely.

"Understandable," Coulson nodded. Jane blinked. Loki's eyes narrowed. Coulson glanced at Thor.

"And he's with you?"

"He is my brother," Thor answered, as if that was a strange question.

"Fine. Am I right in assuming that it was this group that created the tornado-like anomaly outside of town about half an hour ago?" Coulson asked.

Thor frowned, but nodded.

"Yes, that was us."

"Good," Coulson decided. "If the four of you would be so good as to come with me, Nick Fury wants to see you—to debrief you concerning the events that transpired during your last stay on Earth, and another project he has in mind."

"You seem to be suffering from a strange lack of curiosity," Loki noted, his gaze like ice. Coulson looked at him.

"No," he replied frankly. "I just thought it might be easier for you to only tell your story once, to Nick, since I'm sure it's incredibly long and detailed and generally unbelievable. I'll listen then." He started toward the door.

"I do not know you, or who you are or where you are from," Sif protested, her eyes blazing. "Why should we follow you, or do anything you or this Nick Fury command?"

Coulson turned back.

"You don't have to," he said. "But you might consider it as a personal favor to the people of this planet, after _your_ people have made such a mess. At the very least, a little explanation would be nice."

Coulson smiled, and Jane's chest went tight. He headed back out the door. It shut behind him. She heard Erik let out a long, tight breath. She turned to face him.

"Erik, why did he say the _four_ of us?"

The skin around his eyes tensed, and he put his hands in his pockets.

"Probably because he just wants the four of you," he answered simply. "They don't need to see me—they've been on the phone with me pretty much every day since you disappeared."

"But couldn't you come along anyway?" Jane pressed. He half smiled.

"I've learned that, with SHIELD…" he said. "You don't show up unless you're invited to the party."

"Wait—we are going with him?" Sif said, stepping up to complete the circle that Jane, Loki, Erik and Thor had made around the coffee table. She glanced at Thor, her brow dark. "Why should _we _be at the beck and call of these mortals?"

Thor sighed.

"Because I promised them that I would be their ally if they would give Jane's scientific equipment back to her," he said, then shrugged. "I gave my word."

"And Coulson said something about another project Fury has in mind…" Jane murmured, leaning sideways to peer through the window at the agent's dark form waiting by his car.

"That may or may not be true," Loki said, lifting his head and gazing out the window as well. "He may have said that simply to arouse our curiosity."

"You mean he lied," Sif said flatly. Loki glanced at her.

"Possibly," he answered.

"But what if Fury _does _have a project in mind—something important?" Jane wondered, glancing up at him. Loki shrugged.

"Well, it would at least be worth investigating. However, I strongly suspect he wants us to follow him for an entirely different reason." He gave Thor a pointed look. Thor's eyebrows went up.

"Aha," Thor said.

"What?" Jane frowned. So did Sif. But the brothers ignored them.

"You really think so?" Thor gazed at his brother intently.

"Oh, almost without a doubt," Loki nodded, folding his own arms across his broad chest.

"Are you worried about that?" Thor asked.

"Ha," Loki scoffed. "Are you?"

"Not at all," Thor snorted.

"He's watching us…" Sif said through her teeth, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, then what are we waiting for?" Loki asked. "I'm in the mood for a little gamble."

Jane flooded with confusion. Loki pushed past Thor, and Thor followed him. Thor snatched up his helmet, and Loki took hold of the back of his. They paused at the door, Thor grasping the handle.

Jane and Sif stood still. Loki met Jane's eyes, and his black eyebrows came together.

"Coming, _alskling?"_

A startled pang went straight through Jane's chest. She glanced at Erik, her heart twisting. Her mouth worked but no sound came out.

"Sif," Thor called, though his voice stayed quiet. Sif's frame straightened, her brow smoothed, and she listened. Thor lifted his eyebrows, and gazed back at her.

"I'm not certain where we're headed—but I'd like to have you with me," he said.

Sif left Jane's side. She strode across the room and up to Thor, her boot heels clicking on the tile. Thor grinned at her. She returned it with a crooked smile, and followed him as he pushed the door open and they stepped out into the night.

Jane watched them go, then turned again to Loki—

And the look in his dark eyes nearly cut her open.

Her face flooded with heat.

"Of course I'm coming!" she gasped, stumbling around the coffee table. Loki didn't say anything—he just turned and shoved through the door. Jane spun around and faced Erik, who stayed where he was, smiling softly at her.

"He…He's really not…" she tried, her face still hot, but her body feeling cold. "He's not usually—"

"He hit the ground hard, Jane," Erik murmured. "And when you found him, he was in a thousand pieces. Now, he's just in a couple hundred." His smile grew gentler. "But I do think he's found the right one to help put him all back together."

Jane quieted for a moment, then managed assemble a real smile to give to him.

"Thanks, Erik. I'll…I'll see you soon."

"Keep me posted."

"I will," she vowed, and with one last long look at him, she turned and stepped through the door.

Thor, Sif and Coulson stood out beside the car, and Loki had just halted. Bracing herself, forcing herself not to care that the others were watching, she strode up and grasped Loki's pale left hand, and entwined their fingers.

His head came around. His brow furrowed, his gaze sharpened. She looked up into his face as he reflexively squeezed her fingers, and beamed at him.

"Of _course _I'm coming with you!" she whispered.

He almost smiled—his soft mouth quirked, and his eyes glittered for a moment. Jane's bright expression faltered and she fought against swallowing, her breath taut. She had misstepped somewhere back there, and all at once they were out of rhythm…

"Where are we going?" Thor asked as Coulson started around toward the driver's side, his shoes crunching on the gravel.

"New York City," Coulson answered. He stopped where he was when Loki lifted his helmet with one hand and slipped it back on, increasing his height by a foot and a half.

"I don't think those horns will fit in the car," Coulson said.

"How long will the journey take in that?" Loki asked, slightly raising his right eyebrow at the car. "They're so slow."

"I think they're deceptively fast," Thor said, suspiciously eying the back end of it and putting his own helmet on.

"If we drive all through tonight, we'll get there tomorrow evening sometime," Coulson answered.

"Well, that's absurd," Loki decided, lifting his head and glancing around at all of them.

"What are you planning, Loki?" Sif asked, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"A faster route, of course."

"I don't think that's a good idea—" Coulson said, coming back around toward them.

"Why, Coulson?" Loki asked, giving him a sharp look and a small, dangerous smile. "Unless we weren't actually going there."

Coulson's mouth went hard.

"If I tell you something, it's the truth," he stated. "I keep everything else to myself."

Loki chuckled. He looked down at Jane for a moment—his eyes were suddenly unreadable. Loki took a swift breath, drew himself up and faced the others.

"This should be easy enough," he declared. "As long as _none _of you think of this service station here," he lifted a shining arm and pointed behind him at the glass reflecting the light of the streetlamps. "None of it," he went on. "Not the blue spire, not the windows, not Erik Selvig—and especially not the white couch." His eyes narrowed to slits. "None of you—not a single thought."

Jane stared at everyone else—their eyes were fixed on the lab, their brows furrowed.

Loki suddenly leaned close to her. His nose touched her temple.

"New York City," he whispered.

Vivid images flashed into her mind.

And suddenly—

AAAAA

Steve Rogers stood off to the side, watching Stark, Fury and Natasha hover around the blinking computers and bright-colored, moving screens. Miss Potts also seemed to be staying out of the way, though Steve was fairly sure she was paying more attention to—and understanding more of—what the otheres were talking about. She stood next to a tall console, looking very pretty in that black dress, her blondish-red hair half-up, her graceful arms folded. And she watched Stark. Watched his every move—and her fair forehead tightened, and her blue eyes went bright, whenever he said something to Natasha, or laughed because of something Natasha said. Steve clenched his hands, crossed his own arms and looked the other way.

"No, no, I'm telling you, that's not an option," Tony was saying to the colonel, gesturing firmly and shaking his head. "It is _not _real tornadic activity, and it is _not _generated from within this planet's atmosphere."

"So you're saying that I should be _worried _that I haven't heard back from Coulson yet?" Fury snapped, putting his hands on his hips.

"Probably," Tony shot back. "If this thing isn't Loki, I'll eat my sunglasses and whatever other expensive thing I happen to put on my head."

"Why do you say it's Loki?" Natasha wondered, leaning her hip against a console.

"The color's different," Tony pointed at the screen. "See? If you look at Thor's…" he tapped a few buttons and the screen changed to a different picture of a different anomaly. "See? It's got red here, and here. And this one that just happened—" he switched the screen. "Look—lots more green. There's some red there, and a little purple and some sort of weird auburn color, but it's mostly green."

"It does look more threatening," Natasha murmured, gazing at it. "Like a thorn bush."

"Excuse me."

Everybody turned and looked at Steve.

"What is it, Cap?" Fury asked.

"Has Miss Potts had dinner?" Steve asked.

Nobody answered, and then Miss Potts laughed and shook her head, but Steve saw her blush.

"I…I, um, ate a late lunch. I'm not really that hungry…"

"It's nine at night," Steve reminded her. Miss Potts' smile became a little forced, and she glanced at Stark. Steve frowned.

"Would you like me to get you something?" he asked.

She opened her mouth. Stark held up his hand.

"I'm—I'll take care of that."

"You should have taken care of that earlier," Steve retorted.

"Miss Potts," Natasha interrupted, giving her a smile. "Would you come with me? I'll show you the way to the kitchen. Our fridge is full."

Miss Potts glanced at all of them, then smiled again, ducked her head, and followed Natasha, her high heels clicking.

The three men watched as the two women passed through the door. It shut behind them. Tony crossed his arms and faced Steve, frowning at him across the wide war board.

"What was that all about?"

"Nothin,'" Steve shrugged. "I thought she might be hungry—and you looked busy."

"I'm never too busy for Pepper."

"Looked like you were."

"No, I knew she was hungry," Tony protested.

"Then why didn't you make sure she had something to eat?" Steve shot back.

"I was about to," Tony answered. "After I—"

"Got done flirting with the agent?" Steve cut in. He shook his head. "You really are like your dad. On steroids."

Tony's eyes blazed.

"Listen, I don't—"

"That's interesting."

Steve's thoughts dislodged, and Tony spun back around at the sound of Fury's low voice.

Steve glanced up over Fury's head, at the screen Stark and Fury were looking at.

The center of it had just blossomed with a bright green flash.

"What was that?" Tony asked tightly.

"I do _not_…know," Fury said slowly, bending forward and clicking a button. The picture enlarged. "But…that's here in New York. Around Times Square…"

"What do the energy readings say?" Tony demanded, stepping up next to him.

"Take a look," Fury said, gazing fixedly at the screen. "All I know is…that's a lot of green."

AAAAA

Rushing noise and flashing light assaulted Jane's senses. She flinched, clamping her right hand down on familiar fingers—Loki's fingers.

She squeezed her eyes open. She gasped.

And then a car horn shrieked.

Jane whipped around—

To see a yellow cab and blinding headlights speeding toward them.

She screamed.

Loki's cape whipped as he spun. He lifted her up, pinning her to him.

Then, he lifted his left leg and put his heel square into the front bumper.

The hood folded. Metal crunched. Tires howled. Glass shattered.

The taxi stopped.

Traffic reeled to a halt. Other horns began beeping and blasting. People leaped out of their cars and started shouting at them, at other people, and into their phones.

Thor _laughed_.

"Brilliantly done!" he thundered, coming up to slap his hand down on Loki's shoulder. Loki eased Jane back down to the pavement. She grabbed the front of his breastplate to keep from sagging—her legs felt like water.

Loki grimaced and noisily pulled his foot loose from the wreckage.

"What an offensive machine."

"Yeah," was all Jane could muster. He glanced down at her. His expression sharpened.

"Are you all right?"

Jane pulled in a breath.

"I…I don't…" She glanced up at him—

To see an inordinate amount of light cascading from and flashing off of the many surfaces of his helmet and the vividness of his eyes. She sucked in a desperate breath, as if her brain wasn't getting enough oxygen, and let her gaze fly all around them.

Millions of lighted billboards, many of them moving screens, flooded her vision. Skyscrapers towered on either side like looming walls of a canyon. The steady rumble of car engines and conversation and the footsteps of thousands of pedestrians created a chaotic roar akin to a giant bee hive.

Times Square.

A _slam_ brought her head back around. The short, mustached taxi-driver punched at his airbag, then flung his door open and clawed out of the cab, his face blotchy and red.

"What did you just _do?_" he shouted, his worn leather jacket askew. He started toward them, eyes flashing, arms flailing. "You…You—Look what you did to my _cab!_" He showed his teeth, bent down, and swiped up a big piece of bumper from the cement.

"Thor—" Sif warned from somewhere behind Jane. Jane's eyes went wide. The cabbie wound up to swing at them—

Thor stepped around Loki, grabbed the man by the shoulders and picked him straight up. The man squeaked like a mouse.

"_Hold_ on a moment," Thor advised good-naturedly. The poor man's face went white. The bumper piece clattered to the ground.

"We have to get out of the street—"

Jane, her heart still hammering, glanced to her right to see Coulson come around and hold out and beckon to them, trying to catch Thor's attention. Jane felt Loki ignore him, and smirk.

"Really, we're drawing too much attention—" Coulson tried, as people began to crowd closer. Out of the corner of her eye, Jane even saw a few of them taking out their phones to film everything.

"B-b-but my…my car…" the cabbie gasped.

"Oh, that was just a bit of fun," Thor assured him, still holding him up as if he were a little boy.

"It was not a bit of fun," Loki protested. "He almost flattened my wife."

Thor frowned over his shoulder at his brother.

"Oh, admit it—you enjoyed yourself."

Loki smiled in a wicked way that wrinkled his nose.

Jane swallowed hard and steadied her stance, finally assured that her legs would hold her. It was easier to catch her breath with Loki's arm and cape still around her than it would have been otherwise...

"I think he understands, don't you?" Sif said, stepping up to Thor's side and peering up at the cabbie, her arms crossed over her leather breastplate. The little man nodded hurriedly.

"Very good." Thor dropped him. The man staggered when he hit the ground, almost falling down. The crowd sputtered, then muttered, and pressed closer.

"I really have to advise that we get _out of the street_," Coulson pressed. He came up to Jane, and she was forced to pay attention to him.

"Miss Foster—really—"

"Loki," she leaned closer to her husband. He tilted his head toward her, casting his bright emerald gaze across the crowd.

"Mm?" he said.

"You have to fix the car."

He frowned, and glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye. She raised her eyebrows. He sighed.

"Very well," he muttered, then slid his arm free of her. He approached the cabbie, who went even whiter and stepped back.

"Don't be afraid, my friend," Loki held up a placating hand. "My wife is very forgiving—and since you did not, in fact, succeed in killing us all, I'm in the mood to be gracious."

Jane wrapped her arms around herself, cold without him, but watching him closely. He swept around in front of the demolished front end of the cab, his eyes running across it. He paused, folded his arms, and rested the forefinger of his left hand against his lips. His eyes narrowed. The whole crowd rustled uneasily, but none of them left. Sif slipped back to stand next to Jane. Their shoulders touched. Thor stayed where he was, his hand resting on Mjollnir.

Loki didn't move. He didn't move one inch for a good minute. The crowd, the cabbie, and his companions stopped breathing. Sif leaned minutely down toward Jane.

"Your husband isn't dramatic at all," Sif muttered. Jane instantly smiled.

"It's because we'rewatching," she answered softly.

Loki lifted his white hands. The crowd gasped.

"This is a bad idea," Coulson whispered.

Loki clapped.

Light flashed from his palms.

The car hood snapped, flattened. Metal squeaked. The bumper popped back out. Tires clapped into place. Glass shards jingled as they leaped up from the ground and sealed back together.

In an instant, the cab stood there in the middle of the road as if it had just put on the breaks to pick up a fare. Loki dusted off his hands. Sparks tumbled from his fingers and vanished.

The crowd erupted with wild cheering. Jane laughed and pressed her fingertips to her lips. Loki flashed a grin at Thor, who let out a booming chuckle and shook his head.

"You are such a show-off."

Loki jerked his chin and smirked at him.

"And you are jealous."

"Me?" Thor cried, putting a hand to his chest.

"Yes, you," Loki replied, coming up to him. "You just wish you could do something like that."

"I wouldn't have dented the thing in the first place," Thor answered.

"You're right," Loki admitted. "You would have crushed it flat as the paving stones—the poor driver would be waltzing into Valhalla at this very moment."

"Can we just get out of the street, please?" Coulson interrupted, sounding as close to exasperated as Jane had ever heard him. She suppressed her smile—Loki didn't. He strode up, took hold of her hand, and left the gaping cabbie and frenzied crowd behind. Thor, still laughing and shaking his head, followed them, Sif in tow. Coulson whipped out his phone and hurried after, like a sheep dog with far too many charges to look after.

The crowd in front of them, eyes wide, scrambled out of the way so the group could pass between, and the four Asgardians and Coulson ducked underneath an awning of a jewelry store. Thor paused a moment, took a breath, and assessed their surroundings with furrowed brow.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"A wilderness," Sif supposed, resting her hand on the butt of her sword and watching as the flow of traffic gradually resumed.

"A metal jungle," Thor added.

"A completely ridiculous city," Loki said, letting go of Jane's hand and starting to dust off his shoulder plates and breastplates. "But it's where Coulson decided we should go."

"_You _transported us here?" Thor pointed at Coulson, who glanced up from his flip-phone, snapped it shut, and rammed it in his pocket.

"No," he answered shortly. "I had nothing to do with that."

"Who did?" Sif demanded.

"Loki did," Jane supplied.

"Of course I did," Loki said, now dusting off his bracers. Jane watched him work, wondering what he was up to.

"How?" Thor asked.

Loki took a breath, then made a face as a blaring horn interrupted him. He rolled his eyes, and glanced up at his brother before starting to rub his fingers together.

"A new technique I've been practicing," he replied, as soon as the horn had stopped. "Implementing terrestrial magic for simultaneous multiple-being transport using two clear mental anchors."

Thor, Sif and Coulson stared at him. A light went on in Jane's mind.

"That's why he told all of you to think of the lab—or, told you _not _to think of the lab, so you _would _think of it," she realized. "And he whispered New York City in _my _ear." She grinned at him. "You knew _I _knew what New York was like, so you could use that as the second anchor."

Loki gave her a subtle, glowing look.

"Such a pretty mind behind such a pretty face," he murmured. She blushed, answering the look—and fervently hoped that they were back in sync.

"I don't appreciate being transported without my permission," Coulson said. "Especially without any warning—"

Loki tapped the forehead of his helmet. It rang. He snapped his fingers.

His helmet disappeared in a flash. His armor rattled and jingled and vanished, leaving him in his long, high-collared tunic, dark trousers and boots. Then, he thumped both hands against his chest—

And with a deep flow of color, like dye poured into water, his Asgardian clothes transformed into shiny black dress shoes, black dress pants, a collared white shirt, black tie, and a flowing, ankle-length black cashmere coat. Jane gawked at him. His long ebony hair, pale skin and arresting eyes, complete with this wardrobe, made him look like a striking, mysterious foreigner, perhaps from Romania or Russia.

"Well…That looks…" Sif faltered, then looked around her at the passers-by. "More…normal," she decided.

"Doesn't it, though?" Loki said, straightening his coat collar. "I thought so."

"Where did you get _that?"_ Jane cried, gesturing to all of him.

"Picked it up a while ago," he answered, though he didn't look at her.

"Wait—I've seen you wear that," Thor said, pointing. The two brothers' eyes suddenly locked. Thor lowered his arm.

"Oh. I remember."

Jane glanced back and forth between them, then clamped her mouth shut. The solemn looks on their faces were enough to make her swallow any questions.

Thor shifted, and cleared his throat.

"Well…you wouldn't happen to have another one of those about you, would you?"

Loki suddenly laughed.

"As if anything _I _wear would fit _you_." He straightened. "But that's all right, brother—you look best in all your glory, and I look best in your shadow." He grew serious again, his eyes alight with something hidden as he held Thor's gaze. "I'd be grateful if you took it from here."

Thor watched him a moment, but didn't appear confused. Then, he nodded once. Jane saw Sif's jaw go tight as she scrutinized Thor's face, but neither woman had time to ask anything—Thor turned to Coulson.

"Son of Coul," he said. "I believe you wanted us to meet this Nick Fury." Thor gestured toward the sidewalk ahead of them. "Lead on."

Coulson's mouth was tight again, but he nodded, turned and started off. Thor and Sif fell in behind him, striding through the masses like the royalty they were. Jane took hold of her husband's hand as they trailed after, much less obtrusive than their friends now.

"What did that mean?" she whispered, looking straight ahead. "What you said to Thor? And why did you change?"

"Thor and I are conducting an experiment," Loki answered quietly. "He hopes to prove me wrong."

Jane glanced up at him. His expression went dark. His eyes flashed.

"But I know I'm not."

AAAAA

"Okay, I _am _worried now," Fury decided, turning back around and fishing for his phone. Steve stayed where he was, unnerved by all these little contraptions that didn't seem to plug in anywhere.

"Whatever that was, I don't see any trace of it now," Tony mused, folding his arms and leaning back against the war board as he studied the screen. "Not even any cloaking devices or shielding…"

"Hm."

Steve's muscles tensed. That was Fury, making that small, deep, thoughtful noise. But there was a different tone in his voice all of a sudden. A low, hard tone. Steve watched his face—watched his brow frown around his eye patch.

"What is it?" Tony asked, regarding Fury carefully.

"Just got a text from Coulson," Fury said, still gazing at the little telephone.

"And?" Tony pressed.

"It says…" Fury went on. "'I am here. Coming in hot. Enemy Number One in tow.'"

Steve stood up straight and dropped his arms to his side. Tony did the same.

"Enemy Number One?" Steve repeated, confused.

"Does he mean—" Tony started.

Fury gave them both cold, resolute looks.

"Yes, gentlemen." He shut his phone and put it away. "Let's get ready."

TO BE CONTINUED

_Review, dear ones!_

_Oh, and…look for the Loki and Jane fanpage on facebook! Woo!_


	5. Chapter 5

_I am so excited and inspired by the lovely response this story has gotten so far! THANK YOU! I hope you continue to enjoy!_

_For this section, I listened to the Thor Soundtrack: Laufey. *shivers*_

_VVVVV_

FIVE

Steve hurried around the black war board, hopped up a set of stairs and stood by Stark. Fury came over too, staring down at his watch.

"Sir, please tell me what is going on," Steve asked in a low tone, watching Fury's face. Fury glanced up at him, then grabbed of the face of his watch and twisted it. A flash of light shot from several bulbs around the room. Far off, somewhere in the depths of the compound, Steve heard the faint echoes of slamming of doors.

"You're seriously bringing him in here?" Stark leaned toward Fury, his eyes intense. "A guy who ripped through the side of an armored car, took that Cube and then _disappeared_? You really think he's gonna _let _you just lock him up someplace until you decide what to do with him?" Stark stepped closer to Fury, gesturing pointedly. "Coulson didn't just get from New Mexico to here in less than half an hour by driving that sissy sedan—he was brought here." Stark pointed down at the floor. "And once it's clear that we aren't that happy to see this guy, there isn't going to be any way for us to contain him."

"_What _are you talking about?" Steve demanded of Stark. Fury turned from Stark to him. His mouth tightened.

"_Loki_, Captain," he said, his gaze cold. "Thor's brother."

"Thor, sir?" Steve repeated. "The…the Swedish god of Thunder?" He glanced back and forth between both men. Stark looked away, but Fury never blinked.

"Those are code names, right?" Steve wanted to clarify. Fury shook his head.

"No. Those are their real names. Thor hit the ground outside Puenta Antiguo, New Mexico, this past February. He stayed just long enough to smash up a giant metal man who shredding the town—sent by Thor's brother, Loki."

Steve stood there, baffled. Stark's face didn't give anything away—he just bit his lip. Steve turned back to Fury.

"So, you're saying, sir…" Steve said, holding out his hand. "That _Thor_, the god of _thunder_, hit the _earth _in February in _New Mexico_, and now his evil brother _Loki_, that tried to destroy that town with a big metal man, is after the Cube."

"He's not after it," Stark glanced at him. "He's got it."

"But other than that," Fury said. "Yeah, that's about the size of it."

Steve just stared at their straight faces. Fury's eyebrows flashed.

"That was our first reaction, too," he said, buttoning his coat and reaching into his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out, flipped it open—and drew himself up. "That's okay, though. You'll find out a lot quicker than we did."

Doors slammed open. Steve spun around to see five black-clad SHIELD agents march in, carrying long, potent-looking guns. They stopped on the landing. The next second, five more came in from the door that Miss Potts and Natasha had used. Then another five swept through the third entrance. Their boots pounded on the hard floor as they stationed themselves around the room.

"What are you going to do?" Stark leaned closer to Fury. "_Shoot _at him?"

"We've got a netting weapon now—shoots pure energy," Fury answered, keeping his voice down as he punched buttons on his telephone. "Energy that pulls _your _energy out of you like a vampire. It can kill a regular man in under a minute. It might put a dent in him."

"I didn't invent that," Stark shot back. Fury looked at him.

"You are not our only supplier."

"Colonel, what do you want me to do?" Steve asked, opening and clenching his hands.

"For now, Cap, I'd like you to watch and learn," Fury answered, putting away his telephone again and facing the third entrance. "The breed of enemy has changed a bit since your heyday."

"Yes, sir," Steve said, swallowing painfully. He hated this—hated not knowing, hated this sense of having completely lost his bearings, hated feeling uneasy and rattled while standing here in civvies with no weapon and nobody to shoot at—

"I'll get my suit," Stark decided. Fury shook his head.

"No time," he said. "Here he comes."

Steve turned. He heard footsteps in the hall outside that third entrance.

All the agents snapped to attention—and aimed their weapons at the door.

The door shoved open. Agent Coulson stepped through, head down, his usually-perfect suit mussed. And then…

Two radiant figures strode in.

One was a gorgeous, dangerous-looking woman with jet black hair, piercing dark eyes, flawless skin and a hard expression. She wore what looked like medieval battle-gear—form-fitting leather and chain mail, and a sword at her belt. She was tall, for a woman. But she didn't look it next to the figure beside her.

He had to stand seven feet tall. He had blue eyes, a gold beard and long blonde hair—most of his head was covered by a silver winged helmet. Broad shoulders decked out in a flashing breastplate, and fitted chain mail on his arms, leather trousers and thick boots, all framed by a sweeping red cape that arched over his shoulders and fell to the floor. A heavy hammer tucked into his belt, ready to be taken up by his right hand.

It was like a light sprang from these two, giving the air around them its own illumination. So it wasn't until they stopped walking that Steve realized they weren't alone.

Behind them trailed a man and a woman. The woman was very pretty—soft and small, with light brown hair and eyes like a doe—but bright and intelligent. She wore something similar to the first woman, though more elegant, with part of her hair done up in a jeweled clip. She was glancing around the room, first at the computers—then at the armed men.

The man who held her hand, though, looked completely normal. At least—Steve thought so at first. He wore business shoes and pants, a white shirt, and a long black dress coat.

However, he was almost as tall as the first man—a towering height—and he had shoulder-length, wild raven hair of a tone so deep it was almost blue. His face was pale, angular and narrow, he had black, furrowed eyebrows, and his eyes glittered. Even from this distance, Steve could see they were an almost unearthly shade of green.

_Green. _

Steve swallowed again, glancing up at the agents, his stomach tightening. All those guns, pointed at _women_…

Coulson trotted up the three stairs to stand beside Fury. He huffed a short breath, then faced the newcomers.

"Here they are, sir," he said. "Prince Thor, Lady Sif, Lady Jane—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Stark shoved past Steve and Fury and hopped down the stairs.

"Stark—" Fury tried. Stark ignored him. He went right up to the group—he looked downright short next to the great big man—swung around the first woman, Sif, and took the second by the shoulders.

"Sweetheart!" he cried, grinning and kissing her on the forehead. Startled, the lady laughed.

"Holy cow, I didn't know _you _were coming!" Stark cried. "Where have you been? I've been scared out of my mind since I sent the two of you off and never heard back from you—what happened?" He looked up to the raven-haired man—the man who was looking back at him with something open and stunned in his face.

"Fenris!" Stark greeted him brightly, sticking out his hand. "Crap, it's good to see you guys. Really—I was having trouble sleeping nights, worrying about you."

The raven-haired man smiled at him—it was a real smile, but guarded—and shook his hand firmly.

"Hello, Tony," he said—his voice was low, musical, and English-sounding. But not quite.

"Who is this?" the tallest, helmeted man wondered in a deep, robust tone, turning around to face them.

"This is the man I told you about—Tony Stark," the black-haired man replied, tilting his head. "The one with the suit."

"Ha-ha!" the tall one barked joyfully, holding out his hand. "My brother has told me so much about you—I've been itching to meet you, and your flying metal man."

"I hope he's only told you good things, Mr…?" Tony said as he took his hand.

"Tony, this is Thor," the one Steve assumed was Jane gestured to the two of them. "My brother-in-law."

Tony stopped, held onto "Thor's" hand for a moment as he stared at her, then dropped it.

"Wait," he said again. Then he pointed at "Fenris." "You two…?"

"Stark," Fury warned—his voice sounded like a growling lion. But Stark was focused.

"Jane—you got married?"

Jane beamed and nodded. Stark looked up at "Fenris."

"So you're…What, you're…you're not actually a guard. You're…Thor's other brother? Besides Loki?"

They all went quiet. Thor's brow furrowed. Fenris' jaw went tight and he looked at the floor.

"This _is _his brother Loki," Sif clarified, frowning at Stark.

Stark froze. Steve stopped breathing.

Jane sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes going wide.

"Tony, wait—"

"Hold on," Stark said, backing up from the group, and pointing at the black haired man. "Your name's not Fenris—it's Loki."

The raven-headed man didn't answer. But he met Stark's eyes—and his expression went cold.

Stark's words turned quiet, clipped, precise.

"_You're_ the one who blasted up Puenta Antiguo, and who yanked the Cube away from us so you could play with it yourself." He dropped his hand. "And I sent you off looking for it, giving you the perfect chance to get away with everything because I was stupid enough to think you were on our side."

"No, that isn't true!" Jane burst out. "Tony—"

He backed away, shaking his head.

"Wouldn't be the first time I was completely wrong about somebody," he muttered. He stopped when his hip met the war board—he folded his arms and kept his eyes locked on the group. "What's the plan, Nick?"

"Boys," Fury shouted.

All the rifles snapped into position and loaded—and started to hum with a strange, piercing noise Steve had never heard before. His pulse jumped. His gaze flew through the roomful of agents, then returned to the group of newcomers.

Thor's glance, as well as Sif's, darted across all the armed men.

"What is this?" Thor demanded. "What do you mean by this?"

"Apparently you are not aware, Prince Thor," Fury said. "But your brother is in possession of a stolen artifact—one that was discovered on this planet and belongs to its people. It is a weapon of unlimited power, and he has stolen it for his own use." Fury's regard fell on Jane. "And it's clear that he's compromised Miss Foster's judgment."

Jane grabbed the dark-haired man's hand again, but turned fiercely on Stark.

"Tony, this isn't what you think," she insisted. "We can explain everything if you just give us a second—"

"Sir, are you Loki, brother of Thor, or are you not?" Fury cut in, leveling a hard look at the pale man. He took a deep breath.

"I am."

"And do you deny attacking the city of Puenta Antiguo with a giant weapon that caused untold destruction?"

Loki's jaw tightened again.

"No."

"What are these devices you are pointing at us?" Sif took hold of the hilt of her sword, her voice like knives and her gaze just as sharp.

"They are weapons designed to ensnare and restrain powerful beings—lock them in place so they can't cause problems," Fury told her. He lifted his chin. "Thor, you rid us of that Destroyer and promised to be our ally—so surrender that man to us and we won't have any more issues."

Thor lowered his head and eyed Fury.

"For what purpose?"

"For interrogation," Fury answered. "To find out what he's planning to do with the Cube, and imprison him for crimes against our planet."

Steve threw a surprised look at Fury—

"He isn't going to do _anything_!" Jane shouted, eyes wild. "All of this can be explained—"

"Then that will come out in the interrogation, won't it?" Fury shot back. "Last chance, Prince."

Thor's eyes blazed. He reached to his belt and pulled out his hammer.

The air suddenly crackled with electricity. Steve's skin tingled, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"You touch my brother," Thor growled. "And I will kill you."

Sif unsheathed her sword. The blade sang as it flashed into the open air. Fury lifted a hand. The agents tensed like archers poised to let loose their arrows.

"It's too bad we didn't strike hands on the bargain," Loki murmured from behind into his brother's ear. "I could have had that helmet."

He clapped his hands.

The room plunged into darkness.

Steve leaped backward. He slammed into a metal railing. He grabbed it with his right hand, hard.

A cacophony of rattling chattered through the air—men yelped and gasped.

Then, a hissing, slithering sound, like chains on stone…

And a rapid clicking, almost jingling noise, and a sharp breath of wind…

Emergency lights blinked on, flooding the chamber with blood-red illumination.

And in the center of the room, right next to Thor, stood an entirely different man.

Or rather—the fully-realized potential of the same man.

He wore similar armor to Thor, but more elegant, and a darker cape. And his helmet looked wicked—two tall, backward-curving, sharp horns. He held out his left hand, palm up, casually. The red light glinted against his eyes. He was smiling.

_Loki._

_ And Thor…_

Steve looked up.

All of the guns were floating in the air over their heads.

And they pointed back at the stricken men who had just been holding them.

All the heat drained out of Steve's face. Coulson, Fury and Stark had gone just as still, staring upward.

No one moved.

Slowly, Steve pulled his attention down from the guns, still clamping his hand on the railing. His heartbeat hammered in his ears.

"You were saying, brother?" Loki glanced at Thor, eyebrows raised. "Don't let me interrupt you."

Thor hefted his hammer—sparks danced across the floor, and the air shivered.

"We are Princes and Princess and Lady of Asgard—rulers of the nine realms. We came here because we were told Nick Fury needed our help," Thor said. "We came in good faith, to aid the mortals of Midgard." His nose wrinkled in a snarl. "We do not appreciate being greeted in this manner."

Red light flashed off Sif's blade as she casually twirled it. Jane stepped up beside Loki, glanced at him—and he looked down at her. Their shared gaze turned knowing. Simultaneously, they looked at Stark for a second—then gave Fury their attention.

"What crimes are you referring to, Nick?" Jane demanded. "Because if you're talking about the Destroyer, no one was killed, and all the damage has been repaired."

"That was part of it," Fury answered, pointedly ignoring the floating guns. "But the biggest problem we have is the theft of the Cube."

"I was with him when the Cube was taken," Jane persisted. "We sat on the couch together all night—he was standing right behind me when you called me on the phone to tell me Erik had gotten hurt."

"That doesn't mean he didn't orchestrate it," Fury countered.

"He didn't," Jane shot back. "Dr. Doom did."

Silence fell. The guns drifted closer to the ceiling. Fury's gaze sharpened.

"Doom?" he repeated.

"He called himself Victor Von Doom," Loki said, his mouth hardening. "I have no idea if that is his name."

"Wait—I was right?" Tony cried, yanking his attention down from the guns. Loki glanced at him.

"Yes—we found him in the mountains outside that little town in the north."

"What happened?" Tony wanted to know.

"We took it back," Loki answered flatly.

"You just took it?" Tony raised his eyebrows.

"It was a little more complicated than that, but yes," Loki shrugged.

"Then I'm only going to ask this once," Fury ground out. "Where. Is. The. Cube?"

"What does he mean—the 'Cube'?" Sif asked, glancing at her friends.

"The tesseract," Jane muttered.

"It's the treasure room," Sif said, turning back to Fury. "Next to the Infinity Gauntlet, and the All-Father's staff."

"The what?" Tony said, looking back and forth. "The—Where?"

"In Asgard," Thor finished. "Behind our father's throne."

Steve's head swam. He suddenly felt like he was floating, disconnected—none of this could be even close to real…

"Hm," came a gruff voice from behind. "That's a neat trick."

"Indeed," came a smoother, deeper voice. "One I think I've used once or twice."

Steve turned around. In the weird red light, he glimpsed four people that had just come through the backmost door. The first one who had spoken was a man shorter than Steve by about a head. He wore boots, jeans, a white t-shirt, and a beat-up leather jacket. He had a rugged face—fierce and dour—with thick sideburns, a hard mouth, quick black eyes, and eyebrows and a forehead that frowned hard as he gazed upward at the suspended guns.

Right beside him waited a quiet slip of a young woman, dressed casually, with ebony hair streaked with white. She had a beautiful, solemn face and big dark eyes. She also studied the guns, her expression closed.

Beside her sat a man in a wheelchair. He wore a fine business suit, he had a strong-featured, good-natured face and a bald head. Next to him towered a man in a long raincoat and hat—he was the second man who had spoken. His skin looked weather-beaten, and he smirked upward before returning his regard to Fury, though his eyes hid in the shadow of his hat.

"I'm so sorry, Nick," the man in the wheelchair said pleasantly. "Is this a bad time?"

_To be continued!_

_Review!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Aah! Thanks for all your fantastic support! This chapter is dedicated to diane, whose review was a special delight to read.:) _

_I love reading ALL of them, though! So keep them coming! Enjoy!_

_VVVVV_

SIX

Fury minutely turned his head to glance at the newcomers.

"Hello, Professor Xavier," he said. "You're actually right on time."

"Nevertheless, we seem to be interrupting something," Xavier noted, interlocking his fingers.

"Actually, it looks like _we _have interrupted something," Loki said. He started rubbing his fingers together. Sparks shot from his fingertips. "You clearly don't need us, so give us just a moment and we'll be off. You can have your meeting without the inconvenience of entertaining us." He glanced at Thor. "With my brother's consent, of course."

Steve watched the four shining people. Thor's snarl had not left his face, and he glared at Fury. Sif looked disgusted. Jane just sadly glanced at the floor.

"I agree," Thor muttered, adjusting his grip on his hammer. "We are done here."

"Actually," Xavier spoke up. "I think we have information that you would be very interested in, Loki Laufeyson."

Loki's fingers went still.

The lights wavered. The guns rattled.

And the air turned to ice.

Goosebumps raced across Steve's skin.

Loki's eyes flooded with fire.

"What?" he hissed. His voice shivered the ground.

Thor raised his hammer and pointed at Xavier.

"_You_, sir—" Thor warned. "—are on dangerous ground."

"Hey—take it easy," the gruff, sideburned man held up a hand.

"I will crack your skull," Thor snapped at him. The man snorted.

"Try it."

"Logan," Xavier murmured. Logan's jaw tightened…

And something in Steve's memory flickered. He frowned at the rugged man, tracing his hard, vivid features for the first time. A fog hung around in Steve's head, like cobwebs draped over everything…but all at once, this fellow looked familiar…

Loki lowered his head, leveling an unblinking look at Xavier.

"No one calls me that name—even my kin," Loki seethed. "And especially not crippled, common mortals."

Xavier smiled, apparently unruffled.

"I am Charles Xavier, and I am a mutated human," he explained. "I have the special ability to read minds."

Steve's heart skipped a beat, his attention flew to the smiling man in the wheelchair. He suddenly felt sick.

"Aaah, I see," Loki's eyes went wide and his face filled with a maniacally-dangerous look. "Well, slip your tentacles under my helmet once more and your eyes will be looking out the back of your head, and your brain will be nothing more than a piece of charcoal."

The man in the raincoat chuckled. The sound rang through the dead-silent room. Steve had to force himself to swallow—that idea didn't sound all that funny to him. Besides which, he, Coulson, Stark and Fury stood _right _in between these two factions—the static in the air tingled his scalp.

"I believe he could do it, Charles," the raincoat man's head tilted toward Xavier, and Steve could hear his smile.

"Oh, I have no doubt," Xavier said, then addressed Loki agreeably. "Don't worry, my friend—I'll keep my 'tentacles' to myself."

Loki answered that assurance with a glare about as warm as Siberia.

"What information?" Sif cut in. "You said you had information that would interest him."

"Yes," Xavier nodded, resettling himself. "It has to do with Dr. Victor Von Doom—and something else, distinctly alien, that you from Asgard might know a bit about."

Loki and Thor glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, and Jane and Sif looked up at the brothers. A tremor ran through the guns again.

The man with the raincoat lifted his face, and Steve caught a glimpse of a large nose and gray eyes, overshadowed by thick eyebrows.

"Are you aware that these guns are cocked?" he asked calmly, taking his hand out from his pocket and turning it palm up. Two of the guns clicked.

Suddenly, all the weapons twitched, swung, pointed straight down at those with the man in the wheelchair.

The agents leaped backward, letting out shouts of alarm.

Logan shoved the black-haired girl behind him. He threw his arms out to the sides—

And three long, razor-sharp metal claws shot out of each of his clenched fists, singing and flashing.

Steve jolted, a yelp jumping into his throat—

Thor hefted his hammer—

Electricity cracked through the air—

"Woah-woah-woah-woah!" Stark grabbed the war board and ducked—

Coulson whipped out his sidearm—

"Hold it, _hold it!"_ Fury roared, throwing up his hands.

The gray-eyed man gradually raised his hands.

"Pardon my curiosity," he said slowly. "I was just poking around."

No one moved an inch for half a minute. Steve didn't even breathe.

"Who are you?" Loki finally said through his teeth, both hands out to the sides, his fingers spread. His wife gripped his sleeve with white knuckles.

"This is Erik, an extremely old friend of mine," Xavier said, utterly serious. "Also known as Magneto. He can manipulate all things metal, nearby or at a distance." He cleared his throat, and lifted his finger to indicate the clawed man at his side, who had not relaxed. "This is Logan, who is also called the Wolverine. And behind him is Marie, called Rogue. We're…" he took a breath. "We're known as X-Men."

"Didn't know you were bringing a terrorist along with you, Professor," Fury said, one hand still raised.

"Terrorist," Magneto repeated in amusement, shaking his head. "What a worn-out old term."

"Nick calls 'em like he sees 'em," Logan growled, his claws still extended. He glanced at Magneto. "You sure like trying to make things explode."

"Am I alone?" Magneto raised his eyebrows at him.

A loud door swung open behind the X-Men.

Expletives leaped into Steve's head when he saw Miss Potts and Natasha stride in. Miss Pott's mouth fell open and her blue eyes went wide.

"What…_What _is going on?" she cried.

"Pep, I need you to go back where you were," Stark tried, starting toward her.

"Colonel, what's the situation?" Natasha clipped, stopping where she was but

finding Fury with her eyes. Miss Potts' gaze swept through the whole room, landed on Stark, then took in the sight of the group from Asgard.

Then, she saw the guns.

"What are those?" she gasped. "How are they…?"

"This young man is keeping them afloat for us," Magneto turned to address her. "They were getting in the way. And I'm sure…" he glanced over his shoulder at Loki. "He will not allow any of them to go off with so many women in the room."

Loki's mouth tightened. But he straightened up, and as one, all of the guns gave a satisfying _click_. The humming stopped. Steve studied them a moment—they had been disengaged. But they did not come down.

"Pepper, go back in there," Stark said again. "Really, I mean it."

"What are you doing?" Pepper demanded, coming up to stand by Steve. "What are all these agents—"

"Miss Potts, this is official business—" Coulson started.

"Who are these people?" she wanted to know, pointing to Thor and the others.

"Thor, Loki and Sif, from Asgard," Fury said in a hurry. "And Miss Jane Foster—"

Miss Potts' head came around.

"Jane?" she cried. "I talked to her on the phone—she was the one with Fenris, the guard from the bridge—"

"He's Loki, Pep," Stark clarified. "Which is why I want you to go back—"

"He's _what?_"

"Loki," Fury said. "The one who sent the metal man to New Mexico."

"Listen, my brother's business was with me," Thor interrupted. "I do not know why everyone keeps talking about the Destroyer as if it—"

"It caused a lot of damage, okay?" Stark shot back.

"That was nothing!" Thor answered.

"Nevertheless, it _was _frightening to the people of this realm," Xavier allowed. "Your brother caused an uproar."

"So you thought you'd _shoot_ at them?" Miss Potts' realized. "In _here?"_

"He stole the Cube," Fury said.

"I did not steal anything—I recovered it," Loki snapped. "It belongs in the treasure room of Asgard—"

"Says who?" Fury retorted.

"My father," Loki said.

"Your father Odin?" Stark said.

"Yes—"

"Then why the heck did Xavier call you 'Laufeyson'?" Fury questioned.

"I'm _warning _you, mortal—"

"Tony—" Miss Potts gripped the railing.

"Miss Potts, you really shouldn't—" Coulson attempted.

"This is offensive beyond belief," Sif scoffed.

"You need to shut up so the professor can get a word in edgewise—" Logan pointed his claws at her.

"Do that again—" Thor threatened. "And I'll—"

_Thud_.

Steve whipped around.

Stunned silence fell.

Jane had collapsed.

The guns plummeted. They crashed to the floor, struck, and shattered to a million pieces.

Loki threw himself down beside her.

"Jane?" he yelped, reaching out and cradling her head with one hand while pressing his fingers to her throat with the other.

Thor grabbed Loki's shoulder and leaned over the two of them.

"What's wrong? What happened?" he pressed.

Jane began to shiver. Steve thought a sheet probably looked just as white as her skin.

"I…I don't…" Loki gasped, searching her face. "I don't know…"

Steve felt a slight form brush past him—

And Miss Potts hurried down the steps, across the floor, right up to them, and knelt down on the other side of Jane.

"What's happening to her?" Loki gritted, his vibrant eyes looking to Miss Potts.

"She's probably over-tired and got overwhelmed by all this screaming," Miss Potts decided in irritation, feeling Jane's face. "She needs to lie down someplace quiet. Natasha," she straightened. "Are there bedrooms here?"

"Two wings full," came the quick answer.

"Good. We'll pick her up and get her there—Tony, could you hold the door?"

And just like that, the heavy tension in the room crumbled and dissipated into baffled obedience.

"Uh, sure…" Tony mumbled, hurrying toward the door.

A _shink_ issued—Logan put away his claws.

"Could you pick her up?" Miss Potts said to Loki. He nodded, slid his arms under her and hefted her into the air. Jane curled up against him, her forehead tightening.

"Steve, see if you can find her some water. Natasha, could you show us where to go?" Miss Potts commanded. "Coulson, what is in those broken guns?" she twisted and made a face at them. "They smell, and they're oozing something."

"I'll call a cleanup team," Coulson muttered, grabbing a walkie-talkie out of his pocket.

Natasha pushed past Steve and up to Miss Potts, and motioned to the group.

"This way. It's not far."

Shooting a few glances behind them, Thor and Sif followed a resolute Loki, Miss Potts and Natasha out the side door. Steve backed up, and maneuvered toward the back door to the kitchen, trying to fight against the spinning in his head.

AAAAA

Jane's vision flickered for a minute, then cleared. She realized Loki was holding her, cradling her in his arms—it wasn't very comfortable. His armor was hard and cold. And she couldn't stop shivering. Her stomach turned with nausea, and she couldn't focus—lights in a hallway seemed to be passing. A white hallway. And there were several other people walking behind and in front of Loki…

"Here," a voice that sounded like a woman's said. A door opened to the left. They went inside.

Then, Jane felt herself slide down onto a soft bed—a pillow, blankets…

Somebody draped heavy covers over her. She sank down into the mattress.

And strong hands gripped hers softly—warmth swept through her. Her vision cleared, and her stomach relaxed. She looked up into Loki's face, half-lit by a lamp on a bedside table to her right. His green eyes were bright, his eyebrows drawn together, his face white and every angle of his body taut and distressed. She smiled at him.

"That's a neat trick. You made me all warm," she murmured, her voice coming out a little weaker than she'd wanted. He leaned closer to her.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, his fingers tightening on hers. He had taken off his helmet and put it on the floor, and now strands of his long hair hung across his forehead. She pulled one hand loose and stroked his hair away from his face.

"I'm okay," she nodded. "I just…" She frowned, thinking. "I got really cold all of a sudden, and felt kind of sick to my stomach." She took a deep breath and sighed. "I think I'm just tired."

He wasn't satisfied—that line of unease between his eyebrows deepened.

"Loki," Thor's voice came from somewhere behind him. "That woman just left—she says the man with wheels still would just like to speak with us."

"They can all hang," Loki shot back.

"Hey," Jane touched her thumb to Loki's lips. "Talk nice to your brother."

"I'm not leaving you," Loki answered her, reaching out and putting a hand to the side of her head, stroking her temple.

"I will stay with her," Sif announced. Jane glanced up to see the dark warrior woman standing, arms folded, at the foot of her bed.

"I will, too," said a red-headed, pretty woman in a black dress as she sank down in a small chair. She dusted off her skirt. "Tony doesn't want me in there, anyway."

Jane turned her head to see Thor's great form filling the doorway—watching her in concern.

"Will you be all right, Jane?" he asked earnestly.

"I am not going anywhere," Loki insisted.

"I'm okay, sweetie," Jane whispered, summoning up a stronger smile for him. "Sif can protect me—and you have to protect Thor."

Thor quietly chuckled. Loki let out a rattling breath, taking hold of her hands and squeezing her fingers even tighter.

"I could take you back to Asgard in an eyeblink," he murmured. "With a snap of my fingers—"

"But then we'd never find out what that Professor Xavier meant—about Dr. Doom," Jane reminded him, tugging on his hands. "Go find out for me. Please?"

Jane watched his will shudder—saw the flicker in his eyes. Finally, he nodded, then turned to Sif. They exchanged a look. Then, Loki pulled himself away from Jane, their hands sliding out of each other. His cape rustled as he stood.

Then, he bent, picked up his helmet from the floor, and set it on the nightstand. The sight of it gleaming there in the lamplight made Jane's heart swell so hard she felt tears sting her eyes.

"I'll be right back," he promised. He drew himself up. "All right, brother," he said roughly. "Let's find out what all this nonsense is about and get _out _of here."

Together, the two brothers slowly left the room, casting worried glances behind them. Finally, when the sound of their footsteps had died away, Jane let the smile fall from her face, and her nausea returned full-force.

The red-headed woman got up, stepped around Sif and sat down on the bed where Loki had just been. She smiled at Jane in a soft, easy manner. Jane really tried to smile back.

"I'm Pepper Potts," the lady said. "I think you and I talked on the phone once."

"Oh…yes, Pepper…" Jane nodded, trying not to grimace as she swallowed back the bile in her throat. Pepper's expression turned to one of concern.

"I can tell by looking at you that you've probably changed a bit _since _I talked to you on the phone," she said, brow furrowing. "But I'm starting to think you're not just tired and overwhelmed."

"So am I," Sif said stiffly. "You've been hiding something, Jane—ever since we left Asgard. What is it?"

Jane, feeling a cold sweat break out over her whole body, glanced back and forth between the two women.

"Ladies…" she murmured. "Can you keep a secret?"

TBC

_Please review! I love reading them, and I will answer each one as best I can—especially with this reply malfunction ffn is having!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry for this LONG delay—but Christmas is coming, and this chapter was a beast. Nevertheless, I hope it has turned out well, and it is dedicated especially to Mo, but also to all the other reviewers who do not have accounts or didn't log in, whom I cannot thank personally, but whose thoughts and encouragement mean the world to me! Keep it up! And enjoy!_

VVVVV

SEVEN

"_One can be a brother only in something. _

_Where there is no tie that binds men, men are not united but merely lined up." _

~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Jane held her breath as Pepper's bright blue gaze and Sif's black one fixed on her. Pepper's brow furrowed and her lips parted, but she didn't say anything. Sif slowly folded her arms over her chest and frowned.

"Don't tell him, Sif," Jane whispered. Sif blinked.

"Loki doesn't know?"

"Your husband?" Pepper pressed, her concerned expression sharpening. Jane's jaw tightened and she shook her head. Her hair swished on the pillow.

"You haven't told him," Pepper clarified. She tilted her head. "Not that it's any of my business, but…is there a particular reason?"

Jane heaved a sigh and adjusted herself under the covers, glancing at the little lamp on the nightstand.

"I was going to tell him as soon as we got back from this trip. We were just supposed to test out the Asbru Bridge to see if it worked, and be back by dinnertime." Jane bit the inside of her cheek and looked back at Pepper. "But things got a little busy."

"You must tell him. Now," Sif insisted.

"If I do that he'll make me leave!" Jane shot back, gesturing to the door. "Right in the middle of all this! I'm not sick, I'm just…" Jane gritted her teeth. "But he'll get all over-protective and won't listen to anything I say—"

"I might have to back him up on that," Pepper looked Jane up and down, folding her hands in her lap. "You collapsed. And that can't be good for you _or _the—"

"Knock, knock?"

Pepper and Sif jumped. Jane's heart hit her ribcage as her gaze flew to the door. What if—

An unfamiliar face leaned inside, belonging to the tall form of a very handsome young man. He had soft blonde hair that fell across his forehead, a solemn, well-formed, gentle countenance and unguarded blue eyes. He wore a white t-shirt and cargo pants, and he carried a glass of water in his broad right hand. Jane knew she'd seen him before—hadn't he been in the room back there, during all the shouting…?

"I'm sorry—may I come in?" he asked, ducking his head and blushing.

"Sure, Steve. Thank you," Pepper smiled, standing up and taking the glass from him. She sat back down on the bed and handed the water to Jane. Jane's fingers closed around the glass, and sat up as gracefully as she could and took a sip. The cold water felt good as it slid down her throat.

"Jane, this is Steve Rogers—also known as Captain America," Pepper said, gesturing to him.

Jane almost spit out her water. Instead, she choked, then coughed.

The other three started toward her, eyes flashing.

"You okay?" Pepper gasped.

"Yeah," Jane croaked, wincing and nodding. She put a hand to her chest, coughed harder, and managed to clear her airway.

"You're…You're Captain America?" she managed, blinking at him through watery eyes. He half smiled and shrugged.

"Yeah, it's sort of an…endearment."

Jane let out a raspy laugh, and put the glass down on the nightstand.

"Well…" she swallowed and inclined her head to him. "Thank you for the water."

"I…really wasn't trying to kill you," he promised. She laughed even harder, and Pepper joined in. Jane held up a hand.

"No, don't worry about it," she told him. "My fault. Apparently I have a drinking problem."

Steve really did smile now, and it made all the difference—it lit up his eyes. Out of the corner of her vision, Jane saw Sif's wooden countenance gentle toward him—she smiled crookedly and glanced at the floor.

Steve's smile slowly faded, and his gaze found Jane's face again—his eyebrows raised.

"Are you feeling better?"

Jane nodded again.

"Yes, I think I'm just tired. I feel a lot better now," she gave him her warmest smile. "Thanks so much."

"Okay, good," he said firmly, then glanced at the door and pointed at it. "I'll…I think the colonel probably wants me back there, so…"

"Thanks, Steve," Pepper said. "We appreciate it."

He lingered for another moment, long enough to give them each a glance, then stepped back out. Jane frowned and cleared her throat a few more times, still feeling hitchy.

"Jane, you mustn't wait any longer," Sif insisted, her voice low as she returned to their original subject. "He needs to know so that he can decide—"

Knuckles tapped on the door. Jane jolted again.

"Come in," Pepper bid, turning to see.

The door swung open slowly. And a young woman with long dark hear, bearing streaks of white, slipped in. She had a very pretty face, black eyes, and a quiet, watchful presence. She wore casual, dark clothes, and a glove on her left hand. She glanced at the three women. Something in Jane's heart pulled. The girl looked lost.

"I'm…looking for Miss Potts," she said softly.

"I'm Miss Potts—Pepper," she answered, standing up.

"You're the woman who works for Mr. Stark?" the young woman asked. Pepper smiled ruefully.

"I do the best I can."

"I'm Marie," the young woman answered, casting an uncertain glance at Jane. "Agent Romanov said you might be able to help me."

"Sure—come in," Pepper said, waving her out of the doorway. Marie closed the door behind her and came to stand up next to the nightstand. She held her bare left hand tight in her right hand.

"What can I do for you?" Pepper asked, her expression polite.

"I lost my…I need a glove," Marie said, her eyebrows coming together. "A left-hand glove, preferably, but I need one."

Pepper frowned.

"Hm. I don't know if I have anything…"

"Are you cold?" Sif asked, narrowing her eyes at her. "It seems warm enough in here."

Marie just shook her head. Jane studied her. Marie looked pale, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

"Yes, she's cold," Jane stated, reaching out and slipping her hand into Marie's and squeezing it tight. "Her fingers are freezing!" Jane turned to Sif. "Don't _you_ have one with you, at least?"

Absently, Jane realized that neither Sif nor Pepper were looking at her. They were staring at Marie. Jane turned and glanced up at the young woman…

To see her face stricken with shock—her eyes wide, her jaw clamped, her forehead twisted. And her eyes were fixed on their intertwined hands.

Jane went still. No one moved for several seconds.

"What?" Jane finally asked, her heart speeding up. Marie's fingers quivered, her dark eyes slowly lifted to Jane's—and Marie's glistened with tears.

"Ma'am," she whispered, her lip trembling. "Who are you?"

AAAAA

The central room was full again. The war table acted as a division—like a four-way chess board. Thor and Loki loomed at the head of the table, Nick and Coulson stood at the opposite end, arms crossed. To the Asgardian brothers' right, Steve Rogers hovered—next to him, Tony Stark clamped his fists. Across from _those _two_, _in a line, poised Logan, Professor Xavier, and Magneto.

And the walls reverberated with the fury of their voices.

"_You _are making excuses," Thor pointed at Fury with Mjollnir.

"No, I'm _apologizing_," Fury shot back, black eyes blazing. "But Agent Coulson and I were just doing our job—there was no way for us to know that your brother hadn't taken the Cube from the convoy. All the evidence pointed to it."

"Except that he was with Jane," Thor countered.

"We didn't know that, either," Coulson stated. "Your brother lied about his name. We thought he was a bridge-keeper named Fenris."

"Apparently I was wise in that regard," Loki's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, so now nobody knows who the heck you are or if you're ever telling the truth," Logan said.

"Good point," Tony muttered, glancing down at the black surface.

"Oh, he is telling the truth," Xavier spoke up.

Loki shot him a blazing look. Xavier smiled and held up a hand.

"Don't worry—I haven't invaded any further since my first breach." He straightened. "But I do know that while Loki here may have caused damage to Puenta Antiguo, he did not attack the SHIELD convoy—instead, he confronted the one who did."

Magneto watched Loki. Loki's jaw tightened.

"Was it Doom?" Fury eyed Xavier. Xavier nodded.

"It was."

Fury turned and lifted his chin at Loki.

"Would you care to tell us what happened?"

Loki sneered. It was poisonous.

"Why should I tell _you_?"

"Because your suspicions are correct," Xavier said. "He is not dead."

Loki did not speak. But he stared at Xavier out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, I thought you said you took the Cube from him," Tony pointed out. Loki glanced at him.

"I did."

"What—and you didn't kill him?" Tony gave him an indignant look.

"The tesseract was placed upon a device that would bring the mountain down if the tesseract was touched," Loki answered.

"So you were more focused on acquiring it than making sure this guy was out of commission," Fury assumed.

"How dare you?" Loki hissed, his voice like a thousand snakes. "How dare you assume what went on in my mind?"

"What, then?" Fury pressed.

"I don't have to answer to you," Loki snarled.

"Jane had been mortally wounded," Thor cut in, stepping protectively toward Loki. "He had to make a choice between defeating his enemy and saving her life." Thor glanced at his brother. "I would have done the same."

Silence fell. Fury glanced down at the war board for a second.

"So, Professor," he turned to Xavier. "You're telling us that Dr. Doom survived a mountain falling on him?"

"Apparently so," Xavier shrugged. "I saw him via Cerebro just the other day, which is why I contacted you, Colonel."

Steve, Tony, Loki and Thor gave the others blank looks.

"Cerebro is a huge device that enhances the professor's powers," Coulson explained. "He can locate people from great distances, discover their powers, catch their intentions."

"That sounds…freaking awesome," Tony declared.

"Your head would explode," Logan growled. Tony's eyebrows shot up.

"I _really _doubt that, actually—"

"Where was Doom?" Fury cut in, addressing Xavier.

"I…actually cannot tell you," Xavier admitted. "He seems to be shielding himself somehow, though not in a mechanical way."

"Magic," Loki muttered, glancing down. Steve's eyes flashed and he glanced uneasily at Loki. Logan snorted.

"Come on, now," he folded his arms over his chest. "It's some sort of new technology—Doom as his doctorate in messing with chemistry sets and stuff."

"It's _magic_," Loki insisted, glaring at Logan. Logan shook his head.

"That's just stupid—"

Loki snorted.

"I don't expect a mortal like you to understand—"

"Who are you calling _mortal?" _Logan retorted, pointing at him. "And I don't have to have a degree from Harvard to know that _magic _isn't—"

"It's true, guys," Tony said, staring down at the table. "Take it or leave it, but it's true."

Loki's head came around, he looked at Tony—and his hard face softened.

"I'm inclined to agree with these gentlemen," Xavier confessed, watching them. "It's unlike any mutant power or invention I've ever encountered. But that in itself is not what brought me to you."

The others turned toward him—Magneto lifted his head, but did not take off his hat.

"There is another presence alongside Doom—one that I could see more clearly, but I did not recognize him," Xavier began, his voice low and grave, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "He is a powerful, cold, heartless presence—ruthlessly ambitious. But his words were muffled, and his intentions were unclear to me because of the proximity of Dr. Doom's shield. But I felt as if I recognized the flavor of his temperament—though it seemed to be one from the past."

Steve frowned sharply, and did not move. Magneto turned, and gazed down at the man in the wheelchair. Xavier gave him a glance, then continued.

"And so I contacted my very old friend, Erik. We have recently been at odds—but when I told him what I suspected, both of us acknowledged that our differences could be settled later. This was too important." Xavier drew in a deep breath. "And when he came, and I described fully to him what I had seen, he told me more than I had ever feared."

Slowly, the eyes of the other men moved to Magneto. The tall man stood as he was for a moment, then reached up with his left hand to take off his hat. The cuff of his sleeve slid back—to reveal a series of numbers tattooed on his wrist.

Steve went completely still, his attention sharpening. And when Magneto took off his hat and held it in front of him, all of the rest of the men studied his neatly-combed gray hair, prominent nose, beaten face, softly-smiling mouth, and blue eyes that twinkled in order to hide a deep darkness within.

"Charles described this man to me," Magneto began. "And upon his first meager description, I could identify his type." The smile faded from his face, and an edge entered his deep voice. "He is a Nazi."

Loki glanced at Thor, then at Magneto.

"Is this a race of beings?" Loki asked. Magneto smirked.

"More like a race of savages—but no, they are, technically, human."

"A Nazi is a member of a political party," Coulson explained. "A party dedicated to national pride, purity of blood, extermination of those of 'impure' blood—and worldwide conquest."

"They attempted to take over the world, along with the help of several allies, about seventy years ago," Fury finished. "They were defeated in a world war, but groups who follow that doctrine still crop up once in a while."

"Yes, but that is not the case here," Magneto corrected. "This man is an _authentic_, dyed-in-the-woolNazi. And from Charles' more detailed description…" he gazed steadily across at Steve. "I realized he was part of Hydra."

Steve lost his color, and stopped breathing.

"How do you know?" Fury wondered, eyes narrowed.

"Because I know _him_," Magneto replied bluntly. "I was taken to a concentration camp as a boy, and the doctor at the camp performed experiments on me, trying to discover what he could about my powers. This man, this other Nazi that Charles sees, was part of a deep science division intensely interested in the exceptionally pure, the exceptionally gifted, the supreme human form." Disdain dripped from Magneto's tone. "So he came to Auschwitz, and for a fortnight, he and the camp doctor performed a series of the most extensive and excruciating procedures upon me that I'd ever experienced." Magneto took a deep, shaking breath. "His name is Johann Schmidt."

Silence froze.

Finally, Steve choked out a word.

"Impossible."

The other men looked to him. Slowly, Steve shook his head, his face white.

"No. He's dead. I watched him die."

"The Red Skull?" Magneto clarified. "Oh, I can assure you, he's very much alive."

"No—I watched him grab that Cube and watched it shred him into a thousand pieces," Steve gritted, his hands balling into fists. "He's dead."

"Well, then, a man with blood-red skin and no nose, with the exact temperament and memory of a Nazi scientist is pretending to be that Schmidt," Xavier said.

"You said the tesseract killed him?" Loki leaned forward, minutely, studying Steve. Steve regarded him uncertainly for a moment, then nodded.

"Yeah. He grabbed it with his bare hand and it pulled him apart."

Loki's eyes narrowed.

"What did it look like?"

"You one for sick details?" Logan arched an eyebrow. Loki ignored him. Steve hesitated, glancing at the others, then addressed Loki.

"It started pulling his fingers apart, like it was tearing the skin off and up into the air. Then it went up his arm, and to the rest of him, until his whole body just dissolved."

"Sounds fun," Tony muttered, grimacing.

"Then…" Steve paused, his brow furrowing even tighter. He swallowed. "Stuff sort of…Well, the ceiling of the ship looked like it opened up, and…" he paused again, swallowed again, and glanced around at the others. "I saw…I saw space. And not normal space. Space like…very up-close. Nebulas and clouds and things. Colorful stuff. And Schmidt…well, he just turned into a blue beam of light and shot up and out of there, screaming. And the ceiling closed back up. And the cube hit the floor, and burned through it, and fell into the ocean."

Loki and Thor slowly looked at each other.

"It sounds like you are right," Thor decided, turning to Magneto and Xavier.

"What are you talking about?" Steve demanded.

"He wasn't killed," Loki said. "He was transported." His jaw tightened. "What you describe sounds very much like the way we Asgardians travel from realm to realm."

"And the space he saw," Thor murmured, turning to his brother. "Could be the sky above Asgard."

Loki looked at him sharply.

"And there is something else," Xavier added, lifting a finger. "Something that substantiates your theory of his transporting rather than dying. I have sensed many other presences near these two men. But I cannot read them. They are decidedly otherworldly—decidedly _alien_."

"What—like these guys?" Tony pointed at Thor and Loki. Xavier shook his head.

"No, the minds of the gentlemen here from Asgard are old, and different, but relatable. These minds I sense are twisted, calculating and puzzling. I can't make them out."

"What do you want from us?" Loki cut in, the angle of his body changing as his gaze incised the air between him and Fury.

"I doubt the Colonel has thought of what he wants from you, yet," Xavier remarked. "Seeing as you rather surprised him this evening."

Coulson cleared his throat and glanced away. Xavier half smiled.

"I just thought you might be interested, considering your past encounter with Doom, and the possibility of alien life-forms allying themselves with him via an insane mass-murderer."

"This is not our realm," Loki pointed out. "Why should we concern ourselves with the way you and your people kill each other?"

The skin around Thor's eyes tightened, but he didn't argue.

"Because it might concern you in the future," Fury said. "If Schmidt left the bounds of this realm once, who says he can't do it again?"

"He doesn't have the tesseract," Thor reminded them.

"No, but he siphoned off a great deal of power from it during his time," Magneto said. "And, as you told us, Doom has powers of his own."

"And, as I recall from my brief rummage through the second prince's mind," Xavier added. "Doom has his sights set on Asgard."

Loki gave Xavier a tight smile.

"Brief rummage, eh?" he muttered.

"I'm very quick," Xavier replied, unflinching.

"What is your plan, then?" Thor wondered, drawing himself up.

"First, find out where exactly these people are," Fury said. "Then, assemble a team to go in and investigate—and, if possible, make a few captures."

"I'm in," Logan declared. "That Nazi's got it coming."

"Why, thank you, Logan," Magneto purred. Logan glared at him.

"Don't flatter yourself."

Magneto chuckled.

"I'm in," Steve said, much quieter, gazing distantly down at the war board. Tony studied him for a second.

"What the heck," he finally shrugged. "I'm in too—I've still got a little chip on my shoulder from when I checked out Doom's castle and got the arm of my suit shot off." He cleared his throat and folded his arms, then lifted an eyebrow at Fury. "Though I've gotta warn you, I'm not really a team player. Never did group-projects or any of that other crap in school, played individual sports and beat everybody else at everything, so..."

"That's too bad, because you're already part of the Avenger Initiative," Fury gave him a flat look.

"See, the 'Avengers'? What kind of name is that?" Tony held his hands out to the sides. "What are we _avenging_, exactly? Hey, I've got a better name," he snapped his fingers and pointed at Fury. "How about 'the Justice League.'"

"You read too many comics, Stark," Coulson decided.

"What about you two?" Fury turned to Loki and Thor. "You want to check this thing out?"

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Thor turned to Loki, watching his face.

"What do you think, brother?" he asked.

"I am intrigued by some of it," Loki replied, not moving. Then, he shrugged one shoulder. "But I am also inclined to go home and have dinner." He let out a short sigh, and his dark eyes met Thor's. "I will follow you, either way."

"Fine," Thor faced the board. "We will go with you to see what these men are planning. But we aren't a part of any initiative or league," he warned. "We are sovereign princes of Asgard, and we will come and go as we please."

Fury's jaw tightened for a moment, but at last he nodded.

"Understood."

AAAAA

Steve stood alone in a half-dark, offshoot hallway near the main room. He leaned back against the wall, staring down at the floor, his head buzzing. A few minutes ago, Fury and Coulson had shown Xavier, Magneto, Logan, Tony and Thor the way to the "men's wing"—a series of rooms done up for single guys, each equipped with a bed, bathroom, closet, and other necessities. That hall was opposite the direction that Miss Potts and Natasha had carried Lady Jane. Steve had a room in the guys' section, too—but he couldn't head there, yet. There was no way he could sleep. So he stood halfway between the main room and the rec room, unable to move.

Soles tapped on the linoleum. A quiet, tall presence strode toward him, and stopped a few feet away. Steve lifted his head, and gazed into the deep blue eyes of the old man—the one called Magneto. Magneto gave a small smile.

"I see you recognize my decorations," he said lowly, pulling back his left-hand cuff a bit to reveal the numbers in his skin. Steve swallowed and nodded, then met the man's eyes.

"Auschwitz," he said. Magneto nodded.

"Indeed. I nearly died there." He raised his eyebrows. "In fact, I might have—were it not for you."

Steve straightened. Magneto's countenance softened further.

"One night, you raided Auschwitz and broke into the barracks. All the prisoners turned to see who it was—they were frightened. But one boy walked right up to you, unafraid. I doubt you remember, but you—"

"Picked him up," Steve said breathlessly. "And I carried him out through the compound, through the smoke and machinegun fire…"

"Yes," Magneto whispered, nodding, his eyes alight. Steve swallowed.

"Was that…Was that you?"

Magneto truly smiled now.

"Yes," he chuckled. "Yes, it was." He held out his hand. Trembling, his heart shuddering inside him, Steve took a step toward Magneto and grasped his hand. Magneto shook it firmly.

"I never dreamed I would have the opportunity to say this," Magneto said. "But now that I have that opportunity, I knew what to do with it. Thank you, Captain." He squeezed Steve's hand. "Thank you."

Tears sprang to Steve's eyes, and he cleared his throat, nodding hard. Magneto smiled at him one last time, then released him and started back toward the main room.

"Oh," he said in afterthought, turning toward him. Steve glanced up at Magneto's thin silhouette.

"Yeah?" Steve wondered.

"Logan," Magneto said. "He is older than you are—much older. But he fought in your world war, in the same theatre. I doubt he remembers—Charles tells me he suffered a severe brain injury, and much of his memory was lost. However, you may be able to jog some of it, if you make the attempt."

"Me?" Steve stammered, pointing to himself as flashes of foggy images began to rise. "Did I…Do I know him?"

"Yes," Magneto said, in an odd, quiet tone. "He saved me, too."

Steve couldn't say anything. Magneto canted his head.

"I'll ask you not to tell him that, though," he said. "The less he knows of me, the better."

Steve could only nod.

"Goodnight, Captain," Magneto bid him, and walked off into the silence. And as he stood in the dark, Steve slowly realized that, if both he and Logan had saved Magneto from Auschwitz, they had to have been allies.

A warm, stable feeling settled within Steve's chest, his head stopped spinning, and his feet stood on solid ground.

They might have even been friends.

AAAAA

Loki strode through the dark, hard hallway toward the room where he had left Jane. That red-haired woman, Natasha, had come out of the cooking area and offered to escort him, then had given him a warm smile in exchange for his sharp negative reply—which would have puzzled and intrigued him under other circumstances. He would think on it later. After he saw Jane.

He paused in front of her door. It stood open just a crack. He pushed it open and glanced inside.

Sif stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed, illuminated by just the bedside lamp. Her head whipped around and her eyes found his—and she relaxed.

"Loki," she sighed, dropping her arms down to her sides.

"How is she?" he whispered, stepping inside and glancing at the bed. Jane lay in the middle of it on her side, her back to him.

"She just fell asleep," Sif murmured, gazing at Jane. "The mortal woman, Miss Potts, sat with her a long while, as did the other woman, Marie."

Loki sensed unease ripple out from Sif. He frowned at her.

"What?"

"Something strange happened with Marie—something I do not understand, but it has to do with her mutant power," Sif explained, her dark eyes glittering in the dim light. "Miss Potts promised we would all find out more tomorrow."

Loki didn't like the sound of that, but he was not about to wake Jane up to ask her about it.

"Thank you, Sif," he said. "Do you have a place to sleep?"

"Yes—down the hall," Sif said. "Between Marie and Miss Potts. If I could trouble you for my bag…"

"Yes," Loki said quickly, waving his palms across each other. After a brief flash of light, he held Sif's leather satchel in his hands.

"Thank you," Sif nodded, and took it from him. "Goodnight, your highness." She inclined her head to him, and slipped silently out the door, shutting it behind her.

Loki turned back to face his wife's soft, sleeping form. And the knot in his gut, the one that had been there all night, clamped down with painful force. For a moment, his body went weak and immobile, and he couldn't breathe.

With shaking hands, he finally made himself pass his fingers over his arms and chest, unconjuring his armor and cape. Then, he pulled off his outer tunic, boots and belt, keeping on a looser shirt and trousers.

He stepped forward, drew the covers aside, and slipped into bed behind her, wincing with every movement, lest he wake her up. Once he got settled, and she had not stirred, he twisted and waved a dismissive hand at the lamp—it went out. The room plunged into darkness.

Now, all he could hear was her deep, even breathing, and all he could feel was her warmth. He swallowed, easing closer to her, lifted a hand and rested it on her silken hair, unable to resist or hold back for one more second.

He had to know what was wrong.

Delicately, he ran his fingertips down the side of her head, her neck, and up over her shoulder. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing, and he held his breath. He traced her shoulder blades through the soft material of her clothes, then all the way down her spine. His hand swept up and stroked up and down the side of her ribs, her waist, the curve of her hip. Then he scooted closer, brought his hand down and around to press against her lower abdomen, then up toward her breasts.

Nothing.

His face hardened like stone, tensing until it hurt, until he couldn't draw breath. He bit the inside of his cheek as the tendrils of magic weaving between his hands searched and prodded.

But there was something in his way.

A veil.

A shield.

And though he could feel her every heartbeat, the smoothness and softness and warmth of her body, could smell the scent of her hair, hear the depth of every breath…

He could not penetrate inside her with any reach of magic.

He released the tendrils. He opened his eyes. He blinked back startled tears and swallowed hard. She slept on.

He felt cold all over. He withdrew his arm from around her, afraid his icy touch would scare her. Taking a shaking breath, he leaned his head down to press his forehead into the back of her neck. And he lay there awake all night, his bones locked, listening to her breathe.

TO BE CONTINUED

_Review, dear, dear ones! :D_


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry for the delay…but I'm working on three things at a time, here! Also, this chapter is HUGE! Whew. Anyway, I hope you're still enjoying! Let me know!_

_VVVV_

CHAPTER 8

"_In time we hate that which we often fear."_

_-William Shakespeare_

Tony usually didn't get up this early. But at about five in the morning, he jerked awake, covered in cold sweat, the sounds of clanking surgical tools and pulsing electricity ringing in his ears, and the feeling of jagged pain lancing through his chest. He lay there for about an hour as the sensations faded, trying to calm down, but it didn't do any good. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore and got up, threw on his jeans, shoes, and a black t-shirt, ran a hand through his hair and left his little spartan room, heading for the science wing.

He'd been to this compound before, twice, and Nick had let him leave some of his junk here. Extra storage space, that kind of thing.

He pushed through a swinging door, reached off to the left and flicked on the industrial lights. Bright fluorescent glare illuminated the long room, and the half circle of work tables and desks in the center, littered with computers, tools, small assistant robots and pieces of machinery. And past that, in a plexi-glass case, stood his metal suit, in bad need of a paint job.

He strode toward the work tables, perched up on a stool, and started tinkering with a new design for a nearly-invisible ear communicator. But he'd only been doing that for a few minutes before he felt somebody behind him.

He went still, then slowly turned his head and glanced over his shoulder.

A huge man stood in the doorway, arms folded, body gleaming in silver armor, his long blonde hair hanging to his shoulders. He was watching Tony with keen eyes that were a brighter shade of blue than he'd ever seen.

"Uh, hi," Tony said, lifting an eyebrow. The other man inclined his head.

"Good morning, son of Howard."

Tony stopped for a second, then twisted on the stool to face him, his tools still in hand.

"Um…We've…met haven't we."

"We were introduced yesterday," the big man reminded him, his voice deep.

"Oh, right—got a little distracted," Tony muttered, glancing down to tighten a minute screw. He looked back up. "And you're…um…"

"Thor," the man finished. "Son of Odin."

"Right—Thor." Tony said, setting the little screwdriver down and turning the earpiece in his hand.

"I am not lying," Thor added. Tony frowned at him.

"Did I say you were?"

Thor raised his eyebrows.

"You sound as if you do not believe me."

The corner of Tony's mouth twitched up as he reached over to grab a set of wires.

"Yeah, well—to me, Thor is some ancient thunder god that nobody believes in anymore. Gets used for mascots a lot, though."

"So…you _don't _believe me," Thor realized, watching him. Tony shrugged.

"I've seen a few funky things the past couple years," he admitted. "But not much to make me believe in old Norse gods. Just a little hard for me to imagine."

Thor chuckled. Tony didn't want to admit it—but the sound _did _resemble a distant roll of thunder.

"And yet you're a man with such an astounding imagination, Stark."

"Listen, what makes you think you know so much about me?" Tony demanded, finally sitting up straight and facing him. "It's kind of creeping me out."

"May I come in?" Thor asked, gesturing to the room.

"Yeah," Tony said, irritated. Thor stepped in—Tony could feel the floor vibrate under his feet. His long cape rustled around his ankles.

"My brother has told me a great deal about you," Thor said, coming up beside Tony, towering over him, and glancing across the work tables.

"Oh, yeah?" Tony said, scooting away from him to reach for a pair of wire cutters. "He seems to be good at fabricating things. Did he say I grow fur at the full moon? My father was half alien? My skin turns green when I eat turnips?"

"He told me you can fly."

Tony stopped. He glanced up at Thor—and saw, for just an instant, a twinkle of challenge in his eye.

"Well, I_…I _can't fly," Tony stammered. "But my…my suit can, there," he pointed at it.

"My brother also said you could beat me in a race," Thor said.

Oh, yeah. Definitely a challenge, now.

Tony stood up. He gritted his teeth—this guy was so _stupidly _tall…

"That seems pretty obvious, don't you think?" Tony answered, looking him up and down. "I can break the sound barrier in that thing. If you just stood behind me, I'd peel the skin off your face."

"I've never heard of this sound barrier," Thor said lightly, glancing at the suit. "But if you tried to grasp my hammer, you would never even be able to lift it." Then, he arched his eyebrow at Tony. "What's the wager for this race?"

Okay. This guy was getting on Tony's nerves.

"Look, I don't know how there's going to be any _race_, seeing as all you've got is some glittery armor and some sledgehammer."

Thor grinned.

"What's the wager?"

AAAAA

Jane looked at herself in the mirror. She frowned, then rubbed the fog away from its surface with a towel. She bit her lip. She looked pale. She patted her cheeks, trying to get circulation going.

She'd slept well after the other girls had left last night, though at one point she dreamed like she'd gotten locked in the freezer of a fast-food place where she'd worked in high school. Jane shivered. What had caused that?

She quickly dried off after her hot shower, trying to ignore the slight shakiness in her legs, and the uneasiness in her stomach. She'd be fine—she just needed to get out of this little room and breathe some fresh air…

She pulled on her undergarments, and then tugged on a pair of jeans and a soft, form-fitting red shirt. For a moment, her hands rested on her belly, and she swallowed hard.

"We're fine," she whispered firmly, shaking herself. "Just fine_._"

Then, snagging her hairbrush, she opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out.

Loki stood by their bed, fastening the front of a clean black tunic. He glanced up at her. Then his eyebrows came together as his eyes darted up and down her form.

"You're wearing clothes from Midgard."

"Yeah, Pepper loaned them to me," Jane sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and running the brush through her hair.

"Pepper…" Loki repeated.

"The red-haired gal," Jane prompted. Loki looked at her askance.

"The one in the black, tight clothes—?"

"No, no," Jane shook her head. "The other one—she has lighter red hair. I think I heard her voice close by my head when you carried me in here."

"Oh…yes," Loki murmured. Jane glanced up at him.

"What?"

He shrugged one shoulder and bent to pick up his boot.

"I wasn't aware that you preferred Midgardian clothes."

Jane smiled.

"Well, wearing a skirt all the time is restrictive. You have _no_ idea how good it feels to pull on a pair of jeans again. Even if these are a little long. Pepper's so tall."

Loki looked at her squarely.

"You think Asgardian clothes are restrictive?"

She frowned at him, stopping her brush.

"Well—yes," she admitted carefully, watching him. "Sometimes."

"You could wear trousers," he said.

"Ha," Jane laughed, shaking her head. "No woman in Asgard wears pants."

"Sif does."

"Sif!" Jane exclaimed. "She's part of Thor's fighting squad. Her wearing a dress would just be ridiculous." Jane arched a wry eyebrow. "Besides, your mother would never let me get away with it."

Loki fell silent. Jane's brush-strokes slowed as she turned to study him. He wordlessly pulled on his boots, strands of black hair falling across his face.

"Is there something the matter?" Jane asked.

"Not at all," he said, straightening—and his expression was cold, closed. "I suppose I've just always thought you would enjoy dressing like a princess."

Jane's lips parted, but she suddenly couldn't speak. He held her gaze for a moment, then turned to the door.

"I'll be back later in the day," he said. "I have some business to attend to."

And silently, he slipped out, and was gone. Jane's hand lowered down onto her lap as she stared at the door.

Okay. _Now _she didn't feel so good.

AAAAA

Tony quickly slammed on his brakes, trying to avoid knocking the work tables over with his repulsors. Next to him, Thor's feet thudded into the cement floor, shaking the walls. Tony cut his lifts and hit the floor too, trotting to slow down. He turned, the gears in the neck and back of his suit issuing their usual crisp whine, making sure that the big bay doors clanged shut and locked behind them.

Thor hefted his hammer and strode toward him, grinning. His hair was now wild and windblown. He pointed his hammer at Tony.

"I'll admit it—you are an impressive mortal," he bellowed.

"Watch where you point that thing, Thunderpants," Tony warned, holding up an armored hand. Now, with his instruments on and Jarvis muttering data in his ear, Tony viewed that hammer in an entirely new light. Besides the fact that Jarvis had informed him immediately that Mjollnir carried the potential energy of an atomic bomb, Tony could actually see the thing pulsing, radiating with golden light—light that had streaked from it like a comet as Thor had blazed through the air beside Tony, cutting the sky and shattering all sorts of speed records. He had kept up with Tony—neck and neck the whole time—which is why Tony's warning now carried grudging camaraderie in it, instead of hostility.

Thor laughed, and stuffed his hammer in his belt.

"I've never seen anything like that," Tony confessed, deactivating his helmet so that the face of it flipped back, opening up, and he took a breath of unfiltered air. "Where did you get it?" he asked, stomping toward the suit platform and mounting it.

"It was forged in the heart of a dying star," Thor explained. "Loki's idea, actually."

Tony glanced down at him, but Thor only smiled. Then, something by the door caught Thor's eye, and his expression changed.

"Speaking of my brother…" he said quietly. Tony blinked, and tried to turn around, but just then the mechanical arms descended from the ceiling, clamped down on parts of his armor, and began noisily removing it.

Tony gritted his teeth, but didn't say anything. Thor exchanged a beckoning gesture with whoever-it-was at the door behind Tony, then glanced up at him.

"I am obliged to you for the flying lesson, Howardson," Thor inclined his head to him. "Though I think we can forget our wager, since neither of us won."

"Sure," Tony answered, trying not to sound tight. "It was fun. We'll do it again sometime."

Thor smiled again, then strode out of the room.

Tony stood as still as he could while the humming, whirring arms swiftly pulled off his armor—but the back of his neck tingled and his skin went cold. He was being watched.

Finally, when the arms withdrew and he just stood there in his black jumpsuit and shoes, he turned around…

To see a tall, lean form standing against the doorframe, garbed all in black from his throat to his wrists to his feet. He had equally black hair, hanging to his shoulders, a white, narrow face, and a shadowed, dark-emerald gaze. His elbows were bent, and one of the long fingers of his left hand traced a circle in the palm of his right.

Fenris.

No. _Loki. _

For a long while, neither of them said anything. Then, Tony crossed to his work table, picked up a handheld generator and started fiddling with it.

"What are you doing here?" Tony asked, not looking up.

"I came to find you," was the answer—low, precise, careful.

"What for?" Tony wondered. "Got some more fiction to sell?"

Neither said anything for a long time.

"May I come in?" Loki asked, even lower. Tony shrugged, unscrewing the back panel of the generator.

Loki's footsteps were silent as his dark form slipped closer, coming up to stand on the other side of the table, a little off to Tony's left. He reached down, gingerly, and picked up a thin test tube. He drew a breath.

"Once upon a time," he said—and Tony frowned. He tried hard not to look up at him. Loki went on.

"There was a boy. An exceptional boy. He loved his mother, and feared and admired his father. He was quiet, observant, and learned a subject through and through the first time it was presented to him. Everyone around him acknowledged that he was brilliant—had been given a gift that no one else had. That he was incredibly special."

Tony paused, frowning, his hands slowing down in their work. Loki held the test tube still.

"But it was because of his gifts, because of his unusual way of looking at the universe, that he felt at odds with his family—and all the other boys and girls his age thought he was ridiculous."

Odd pain started at the back of Tony's throat. Still, he didn't look up.

"He pretended that he did not care when they slighted him, when he heard them call him names behind his back," Loki went on. "He answered with a razor wit, or hid from them. But this became too lonely. And so, this clever boy realized the solution: he could either avoid their attention, or become the center of it." Loki's graceful fingers set the tube down on its head. "So he began to entertain them with his myriad of talents and stunning tricks. Some were even dangerous. But it worked. Everyone wanted to be near him—not for his company, but to see what he might pull from his sleeve next."

Loki was quiet for a long time. Tony had stopped moving.

"And then," Loki said. "There was an accident."

Tony's mind jerked. His eyes flew to Loki's face. Loki gazed at the tabletop. Tony frowned sharply. For a second there—he had no idea why—he had thought that Loki was talking about _him_. But now, all at once, he realized that Loki wasn't talking about him at all.

"This boy," Loki went on. "Had gathered a group of boys and girls around him—and they were watching him juggle fire. He had very little practice at it, but he didn't want them to know that. He was showing off for a girl—a girl with hair the color of the sunrise. But then…" he took a deep breath, and shook his head. "The fire slipped out of his grip. And it burned the girl with the sunrise hair."

Tony stared at him, his throat closing.

"From then on," Loki continued. "The parents of the other children forbade them from playing with this boy, telling them that he was dangerous. Now, he was utterly alone—far more so than before. So, on the brink of desperation, he used another talent, and disguised himself. He magically changed his appearance, pretending to be some of the other boys, making sure the same boy was never in the same place twice at the same time. He was caught once, and labeled a liar and a charlatan—but then he became so good at it that he was never caught again. Because he had decided something." Loki withdrew his hand from the test tube. "Openness causes hurt. Keeping to himself was best." Loki lifted his eyes to Tony's. "And pretending to be someone else keeps him safe."

Tony waited. Loki gazed back at him a moment, then his eyebrows drew together.

"And then that boy grew up. All his incredible tricks and duplicity gained him nothing but solitude. And he realized—though it took a massive impact and a few blows to the head—that while concealment may keep him safe…" he paused. "That safety is worthless if he is alone."

Loki stepped up in front of Tony, staying on the other side of the table. He was very tall—almost as tall as Thor. Just as Tony remembered. Loki held out his right hand to him.

"My name is Loki," he said. "And I owe you the truth, Tony Stark."

Tony studied him for a second, then cleared his throat.

"Before I shake your hand," he said. "I need you to clear something up—something that's probably important."

Loki watched him.

"There seemed to be some confusion about your last name," Tony said.

Loki swallowed.

"My last name is Odinson," he said. "Though…it was given to me."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Tony asked. Loki's jaw tightened, but he took a short breath, and answered.

"The one who gave me life was Laufey, king of the Frost Giants of Jotunheim," he said quietly. "But the one I live for is Odin, king of Asgard."

Tony stood there for just an instant. Then, he reached out and grasped Loki's hand.

"Nice to finally meet you, Loki," he said. "I've heard so much about you."

Loki lifted an eyebrow.

"Good or bad?"

"Some of both," Tony said. "I'll have you sort it out for me."

Loki grinned.

AAAAA

"It was incredible, Sif," Thor crowed, shaking his head. "You should see this city from the sky. Completely unlike Asgard in every way imaginable—and the _noise!_"

"I cannot wait," Sif smiled. "Will you show it to me?"

"Of course I will," Thor promised. Sif sank down into a padded stand-alone couch in a sparsely-furnished white room outside the kitchen/dining area. Thor dusted off his arms and chest, and with every movement, his heavy armor jingled and clanked, tumbled off and vanished, as did his cape, leaving him standing in black trousers and boots, and a deep red, loose shirt and leather belt. He flopped down on the couch next to her, heaving a sigh.

"What do you think of that man, Stark?" Sif asked, turning toward him. Thor chuckled.

"A very interesting mortal, to say the least," he said. "Brilliant—beyond brilliant. I can see why he and Loki would be friends. Although…" his brow furrowed. "I have to say that his sense of humor is _quite _a bit different than my brother's."

"And…what do you think of this venture of theirs?" Sif asked, becoming solemn. "Chasing after a pair of sorcerers?"

Thor let out a breath, the levity fading from his face as he stared out in front of him.

"I believe it is a worthy venture," he declared.

"Why?" Sif wondered, studying his profile. He glanced at her.

"Because my brother has decided to stay and look into it, even though his wife collapsed yesterday."

Sif glanced at the couch cushion, gritting her teeth. Loki would change his mind instantly if he knew the truth. And that truth suddenly pushed on her, twisting her two different directions. She lifted her eyes to Thor, her heart squeezing, her throat locking up. Should she tell him…?

"Speaking of Jane," Thor cut in. "I ought to go see how she is feeling this morning."

Sif's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Thor got up off the couch, and started toward the opposite hallway.

"Thor," Sif finally called after him, twisting in her seat. He turned back to face her.

"You know I'm coming with you, don't you?" she said, burying the earnestness in her voice and flattening it into stern insistence. "When you go on this adventure. I'm coming along."

"Of course I know that," Thor answered with a smile. "Don't you always?"

Sif forced a smile. Suddenly, that comment struck her the wrong way.

"Always," she said. He grinned at her, and she held his gaze, memorizing for the thousandth time the way his vibrant eyes sparkled.

"I'll be back soon," he said, and started off down the corridor.

Sif wilted, and she stared down at her folded hands.

Yes, she always did go with him. But somehow, in spite of everything, he still did not understand the reason _why. _

AAAAA

Logan pulled a pile of folded shirts out of his suitcase, turned and stuffed them into the open drawer of a dresser near the foot of his bed. Last night, he'd gotten away from the other idiots so late that he didn't feel like unpacking or even putting his leather jacket in a better place than slung across the only chair. The jacket actually was still there—but he was making progress with his other junk. Not that there was much. But he knew, from the sounds of things, he might be here a while. Might as well get settled in.

A tapping at the door only made him lift his right eyebrow. He knew that knock.

"Come on in, sweetheart."

The door to his left creaked open, and Marie's quiet, slender form slipped inside. He glanced up at her, and gave her a half smile.

"You found another glove," he noted. Her dark eyes found him, and she nodded.

"Yeah, the other lady had one—Sif," she said, coming in to sit down on the edge of the bed and flexing her fingers. "It's a little big, but it works."

She was silent as Logan kept unpacking. When he had finished, he shut the drawer, turned to face her, and folded his arms across his chest.

"So are you going to tell me what's eating you?" he asked. "Or are you going to make me guess?"

Marie glanced at the floor. Logan frowned.

"Hey," he said, stepping toward her. "Is something wrong?"

"Well…I don't know if something is _wrong_…" she said cautiously. Logan sat down next to her, watching a delicate expression of unease form on her face.

"What is it?" he asked.

She hesitated for a long time. Then, when she spoke, her voice was quiet and even.

"Last night, when I went looking for a glove," she began. "The wife of the tall, dark-haired one—her name is Jane…She touched me."

Logan's attention sharpened. But Marie went on.

"She didn't know about…Well, about me. She said I looked like I was cold, and reached out and grabbed my hand."

Logan held his breath, staring at her. She lifted her eyes to his.

"Nothing happened."

Logan blinked.

"What?"

"Nothing happened," she repeated. "Nothing. Not to her, not to me. Nothing. Then I told her what usually happens to people I touch. Then, Lady Sif said… 'But have you ever touched an Aesir before?'"

"What's an Aesir?" Logan demanded. Marie shrugged one shoulder.

"What Jane is, I guess. And her husband, and Thor, and Lady Sif. They're not from this planet. And I guess they're not made of the same stuff. Because Lady Sif came over and grabbed both my bare hands after that—and nothing happened to her, either."

Logan hesitated a second, trying to bite back a displaced feeling of offense, of irritation.

"So…what do you think of all that?" he asked, as coolly as he could.

Marie smiled, startling him.

"It was nice. I mean, I suddenly felt like I could breathe again, you know?" she said, her features animating. "I didn't have to be so careful—I usually feel like I'm walking around on eggshells, but last night…" She let out a soft laugh and shrugged again. "I felt kind of…normal." Marie canted her head and gave him a bright, amused look. "Lady Jane also said that she was sure Thor would be glad to give me all the hugs I've missed out on."

Logan almost ground his teeth. Instead, he managed just to shake his head.

"It'd probably be a good idea if you didn't take her up on that offer," he said, standing up and grabbing his leather jacket.

"Well, I wasn't going to…Wait, why not?" Marie asked sharply.

"'Cause I don't trust them. Any of them," Logan answered, pulling his jacket on. "You saw that guy—the one called Loki. He almost shot us."

"I think SHIELD was actually about to shoot _him_ first," Marie pointed out.

"Yeah, well, with good reason," Logan muttered, starting toward the door. "He's dangerous."

"The same thing could be said about you," Marie told him. He paused, his hand on the doorknob, then glanced over his shoulder at her. She was looking at him sideways, almost grinning.

"Yeah, well," he said, giving her a crooked smile. "You've got me wrapped around your little finger. I couldn't hurt you if I tried."

She chuckled softly, he let his smile broaden, and he opened the door.

"I'm going to scope this place out. I'll meet you in the dining room at noon."

AAAAA

Steve caught sight of his shorter, thicker form emerge from one of the doors in the men's wing and start toward the rec room. Hesitating only a moment, Steve broke into a trot, and caught up to Logan.

"Hi," Steve said lamely as he fell into step beside him. Logan glanced up at him, then out ahead—then looked back at him again. He slowed down, stopped, and narrowed his eyes. Steve waited, eyebrows raised, whatever-it-was he'd been about to say vanishing from his brain completely.

Finally, Logan shook his head.

"I must be losing my mind," he muttered, reached in his pocket and pulled out a cigar. He stuck it between his teeth, cupped his hands around the end and lit it. The light from the flame darted across his rugged features, and the scent of the cigar, earthy and sharp, filled the corridor. Steve frowned.

"Why would you say that?" he asked.

"Never mind," Logan growled, clicking the lighter shut and stuffing it back in his pocket. Steve gritted his teeth.

"There was something—tell me."

Logan looked up at him again, and Steve could see that he wanted to retort—but confusion registered behind those hard eyes for a moment, and Logan just stared back at him, the smoke from his cigar curling upward.

"Well, just for a second there," Logan said, taking his cigar out and blowing smoke. "I felt like I ought to stop and salute you, or say 'sir' or something." He turned and started walking. "Which is why I must be losing my mind. I don't salute or say 'sir' to anybody."

Steve stayed where he was.

"What if you once fought beside him in a war?"

Logan stopped. Silence fell.

"Which war?" he demanded, his voice different—deeper.

"Second world war," Steve said. "European theatre."

Again, the two went silent—but in Steve's head, bombs echoed, missiles shrieked, and men wailed. He closed his hands into fists—only to see Logan do the same.

"What…I mean, can you give me any details?" Logan asked, quieter—and Steve heard his uncertainty. "I have trouble remembering stuff these days. Xavier said I took a bullet to the brain."

Steve hesitated, then strode up to stand beside him again. He took a deep breath and folded his arms, ducking his head.

"I don't remember the details, either. _My_ brain's been in the deep freeze for almost seventy years, so…"

Logan glanced up at him. And again, Steve felt that swell of familiarity, of recognition—and for an instant, he saw the same thing flicker across Logan's face.

"I do know we raided a concentration camp together," Steve said. "Rescued some people under heavy fire. I…don't think you were part of the U.S. military, though. Maybe—"

"Canada," Logan said quickly, then his voice faded. "Probably…Canada."

Steve watched him, and nodded. Logan frowned.

"What's your name again?"

"Steve Rogers," he answered. "But you might have known me as Captain America."

Logan's eyebrows went up.

"That might explain my impulse to salute," he said. He stuck his cigar in his mouth again. "So—you expecting me to take orders or something?"

"No, no, of course not," Steve said hurriedly. "I just…Well, I just thought there was a chance you might…you know, understand what it's like to feel a hundred times older than everybody else, even though you don't look like it. Why the way everybody talks and dresses seems strange, but you can't put your finger on the reason." Steve paused, studying Logan while he was studied in turn. "That you might have seen things that changed you," he said slowly. "Things you could never explain to anybody else because they'd never really understand unless they were there."

It was a long time before Logan's expression even changed. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Yeah," he said huskily, taking the cigar out of his mouth again and lowering his head. "Yeah, I think I do." He held out his hand. "The name's Logan."

"Right, I remember," Steve nodded, grasping his hand. "Jim Logan."

Logan froze. His hand clamped down on Steve's—like he'd suddenly taken hold of a lifeline.

"What'd you say?" he gasped, staring at Steve. Steve didn't move, suddenly doubtful.

"Jim," Steve repeated. "Your first name, right?"

Logan stayed stock still for a long while, his breaths shaking. Then, he swallowed hard, his forehead twisting—and he nodded.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely, bringing a bright gaze back up to Steve's. "You're right."

Carefully, Steve smiled. Logan let go of him, cleared his throat, and glanced down the hall.

"Um…I was just…making the rounds, checking this place out," he said brusquely. He glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Coming along?"

Steve nodded, stifling a smile.

"Might as well."

AAAAA

Loki's steps felt just a little lighter as he strode out of Tony's work room—as if a weight had lifted off him. Nevertheless, his footsteps echoed on the tile floors, distorting the other sounds he was picking up from the rest of the compound.

Which is why it happened before he knew it.

Something—a dark form to his left—moved.

He whirled, striking out like a snake, aiming at the figure's neck.

His hand met empty air.

He leaped back, heart rate skyrocketing—

His gaze fell upon the lithe figure of a woman, dressed all in black, rising slowly back to her feet from a crouched position. She tossed her red hair out of her face, and pinned him where he stood with a penetrating hazel gaze. He swallowed hard. She had a supple, tall, graceful, curvy figure, and as she righted herself, she moved like liquid.

"You're pretty quick," she purred, her voice low and smooth. She lifted a delicate eyebrow. "Most men would never have even known I was there."

"I'm not most men," Loki replied. She ran her eyes up and down him, and smiled, just slightly.

"Clearly," she said. Loki's face went hot—and he mentally twitched. He cleared his throat.

"I...believe I know you," he said, forcing his voice to come out evenly.

"Yes," she nodded. "We've met, briefly. In New Mexico. I came with Colonel Fury to visit you. Of course," her full lips quirked upward again. "I think you were called by another name, then."

Loki instantly remembered her—the woman with long, curly hair and eyes like lasers—but for some reason, she had fallen to the back of his attention, then. Now, he wondered how that had been possible. At all.

He drew himself up, smoothing his expression.

"The situation called for a slight change of identity."

She laughed. It was an intriguing sound, like music in another room.

"I'm not blaming you," she said. "I understand perfectly."

His eyes narrowed.

"Hm," he mused. "You're the first."

She shrugged.

"I can hardly judge someone else for using an alias when I use several myself," she said, running her fingers through her hair and giving him a playful look. "Can I?"

Loki felt his face heating up again. He gritted his teeth, and inclined his head, about to open his mouth to take leave of her—

When she turned, and sauntered off down the hall without another word. He stood for a moment, stunned and intensely uncomfortable. Then, he swiped at his forehead, turned and hurried the other direction.

AAAAA

"I know I said I'd be back later in the day, but that red-headed woman—" Loki stopped and caught the bedroom door so it wouldn't slam. His gaze fell on Jane, lying on her side on the bed, facing him. She wore her night clothes again, and her dark hair draped across the white pillow. The twisted blankets only covered her up to her hip, and her arms were tucked close to her chest. Her long-lashed eyes stayed closed, but a delicate line had formed between her eyebrows, and her soft mouth had tensed—she was awake.

"I am sorry," Loki murmured. "I didn't know you were trying to rest." He eased the door shut. Jane shifted, frowning, and moaned quietly.

"I don't feel good," she muttered. Loki took three steps closer to the side of the bed.

"You don't? What is wrong?"

She shrugged with one shoulder, keeping her eyes closed.

"I don't know."

Loki blinked. He had just sensed the ripple of a lie.

No, not a lie—a concealment.

Or perhaps she just did not feel up to a long explanation.

"Shall I leave you alone?" he asked. "Let you sleep?"

She moaned again, more urgently, and reached out her graceful hand toward him.

He instantly took it. Her delicate fingers felt cold. Concern shot through him.

She tugged on him, minutely—he obeyed as if he were chained. He slipped up onto the bed and lay down on his side in front of her, transferring her hand to his left, then gently taking hold of the covers and pulling them up around her shoulders. He smoothed the blankets, stroking down and around her back.

She nuzzled closer to him—he responded, easing his body closer to hers, until the bridge of her nose rested just beneath his chin.

Her left hand lay inside his right, on the pillow. Slowly, her fingertips ran up and down against the insides of his fingers, then rested still. She sighed, and absently put her right hand up and pressed it softly to his heart. An ache ran through his whole frame. He swallowed.

"What is wrong, Jane?"

Her thumb moved against his chest.

"I threw up."  
Loki frowned.

"You what?"

She let out a short, muffled chuckle.

"It's when everything in your stomach comes back up."

Loki's gut twisted.

"That sounds…" he tried, but he couldn't think of a word strong enough.

"What?" Jane wondered. "Is it unusual for an Aesir to throw up?"

Loki stared at the opposite wall.

"Yes," Loki admitted, chills running across his skin.

"You never have?" Jane asked, tilting her head back. He was obliged to look down at her. He met her quiet brown eyes, and ran his gaze over her soft, pretty features.

"Yes," he whispered. "Once."

She waited. He swallowed again, and glanced away.

"After Thor was killed. By the Destroyer," he answered. He paused. "It didn't last very long—but while it did, I thought I was dying."

There was silence a moment, then she sighed once more and shifted her shoulders.

"Well, it isn't fun. Every time _I _do it, I think it might kill me."

Loki lifted an eyebrow.

"This is a habit of yours?"

Jane laughed a little again.

"Not recently. But I got sick a lot when I was little. Most kids did."

Loki was stunned.

"And you survived?"

"Every one." He felt her smile. "Us Midgardians are sturdier than we look."

Loki moved, scooting down so their faces were even on the pillow. She opened her eyes, and he looked straight into them. He wanted to say something, to assure her that he believed that statement. But no words came.

She smiled at him, and her eyes drifted shut. He leaned up and pressed his lips to the bridge of her nose, then settled so their foreheads rested against each other.

He fought to keep his hands warm, battled the icy chill that raced through him. Jane stayed still, breathing deeply.

And the barrier rose up between them again—stronger and harder than before, muddying all his senses.

_Oh, Jane_…he thought, squeezing his eyes shut and interlacing their fingers, focusing hard so that all he heard and all he thought about was the steady beating of her heart.

AAAAA

Thor hummed to himself as he swept down the hallway toward his brother's room. However, he had not gone far in this direction when he sensed someone just around the corner. He drew up, and slowed…

And a woman came around the bend toward him. His heart gave a single, painful thud.

He had seen her before, just briefly—but now he could see her much more clearly. She had fiery red, shoulder-length hair, full lips, a perfectly-formed face, a cutting glance and an exquisite black-clad figure that swayed as she walked. She caught his eye. He stopped altogether.

"Thor Odinson?" she asked. Her voice sent a thrill right through his whole frame. She paused in front of him and smiled pleasantly.

"I'm Natasha Romanov," she said, holding out a hand.

Thor just stood there for a moment, at a loss, then caught up her hand and kissed the back of it before he knew what he was doing.

"Hm," she said, smiling quietly. "That's new."

"I'm…sorry," Thor managed, smiling back at her, but keeping hold of her fingers. "It is a form of greeting in Asgard. I did not mean to offend."

"No, that's all right," she shook her head, beaming sweetly. "It's been a while since I've met a real gentleman. Especially one that's built like you." Then, she winked at him. Thor's heart thudded again, and he managed to let go of her hand and straighten up.

"Thank you," he acknowledged, not knowing what else to say. His head felt foggy, all of a sudden…

"Colonel Fury would like to see you," she told him.

"Um…Good," Thor nodded. "Could you point me in the right direction?"

"I'll do one better," Natasha said, lifting her chin. "I'll take you halfway."

"Thank you," Thor said, pleased in spite of himself. Then, she fell in beside him, and slipped her hand up into the crook of his elbow. Thor's whole chest swelled, he drew himself up, and together they started down the hall, as if he was escorting her to dinner.

AAAAA

Pepper stepped through the double doors of Tony's work room and answered the bright smile Tony threw her.

"'Morning, Pep," he greeted her.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark," she answered. "How did you sleep?"

"Like crap, actually," he muttered, bending over some contraption or other with a minute set of tools. "That bed's as hard as a rock."

Pepper smiled quietly, coming nearer, and, after inwardly bracing herself, stepped up and wrapped her arms around him from behind. He sucked in a breath and straightened—she overlapped her hands, resting them on his arc reactor. He paused, then covered her hands with his warm ones—and she didn't care if they were spotted with oil.

"Bad dreams?" she guessed, setting her chin on his shoulder. He just cleared his throat, and tilted his head so it touched hers.

"Something like that," he murmured. She leaned forward, kissed him right by his ear, then rubbed her hands briskly against his chest a few times before letting him go. He sent her a shy glance, accompanied by a small, warm smile that made her glow in response.

"Took a little flying trip with the Thor-meister this morning," Tony commented, turning back to his work. Pepper's eyebrows shot up.

"You…You what?"

"We went flying," Tony clarified. "The guy's an ace. I couldn't believe it. Kept up with me the whole time."

"You two went flying? Out—in New York City?"

"Yeah, well we—we went out over the Hudson some and—"

"Did Fury clear you to—"

"—crossed to Jersey. 'course it just took a couple minutes—"

"—even _leave _this compound?"

"—and he…Wait, I'm not a part of SHIELD, if you'll remember. Not technically," Tony said, turning to her. "And Thor isn't even from this _planet_, so—"

"But what about Doom and Schmidt?" Pepper demanded. "Don't you think they'll be keeping an eye out for activity like that?"

"I fly around all the time," Tony countered, clearly irritated.

"Not with _Thor—"_

"Thor's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"But—"

"Mr. Stark?"

They both stopped, and looked toward the door. Natasha stood there, poised and effortlessly-elegant, her eyes fixed on Tony. Pepper suddenly felt off balance.

"Hi, Tasha!" Tony said, giving her an even more brilliant smile than he'd given Pepper. "How's my girl?"

She smiled and canted her head.

"I don't think I'm your girl, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, whatever," Tony said, setting down his tools, stepping around Pepper and toward her. Natasha glanced demurely down for an instant, and took half a step back. Tony followed her movement, and came to stand in the doorway with her—just a hair too close. She lifted her chin, lengthening her pale neck, and arched an eyebrow.

"The colonel says he needs you in the war room. I've already taken Thor there, and Logan has been told."

"Okay, now, you're spoiling your visit by talking shop," Tony said. Natasha shrugged lightly.

"Just doing my job."

"Well, you've always been good at that," Tony grinned. Natasha gave a feather-light laugh.

Pepper suddenly realized she was completely invisible. She closed her hands into fists, and bit the inside of her cheek. Then, she turned on her heel, and marched out via another door. Neither of them said anything to her as she left.

AAAAA

Evening had fallen. Some of the lights in the compound had gone down. The place was quieter. And Sif had finally had enough.

She stormed down the hallways toward the women's wing, her fists clenched as hard as her jaw. She swept down the line of bedroom doors toward the room at the end of the hall: the sort-of common room supposedly reserved for the women in this wing. She fervently hoped she'd left everyone of the male sex far behind her—otherwise, a few heads might roll.

She shoved the door open, stomped through, then made herself slow down when every head turned toward her.

Four blue couches sat in a square, facing each other, and in the center of the square sat a short-legged table covered with colorful booklets that Jane called "magazines." One small table stood between each couch. Two standing lamps and a lamp on each of the small tables gave the room a soft, warm light.

Pepper sat on the far couch, leaning sideways against a pillow and the armrest, flipping absently through one of these magazines. Jane lay on her back on the couch to Sif's left, her eyes closed. Marie sat on the couch to Sif's right, her feet tucked up under her, her elbow on the armrest, her chin resting in the palm of her hand.

Sif slammed the door behind her.

"Oooh, Sif, please…" Jane groaned, covering her eyes with her hand. Sif ignored her, letting out a huff, then came around and flopped down on the last remaining couch, grinding her teeth.

"Well?" Pepper said flatly. "Has she let up yet?"

"Not an inch," Sif snarled, glaring at the lamp down by her feet. "I could not endure it anymore—I had to leave."

"I'm actually amazed at your stamina," Pepper muttered. "I couldn't stand it for more than ten minutes."

"What was she doing?" Marie asked, her bright eyes watching Sif. Sif waved her hand.

"The same things you saw her doing when you were there. Only worse."

"Maybe…" Jane ventured. "Maybe she doesn't know she's doing it."

Pepper snorted.

"Oh, of _course_ she knows."

"How can you be sure?" Jane asked, lifting her pale head. "Some people just have naturally flirty personalities—"

"Right," Sif sat up, savagery entering her voice. "So it was a complete _accident_ that while Fury was trying to explain the workings of this compound's shield, she was practically standing on Stark's feet while they whispered in each other's ears. Or while Coulson was describing the weaponry, she was running her hands all over Thor's arm and giving him stupid compliments about his strength—and the whole time the war board was being explained, she was giving lusty, beckoning looks to _your husband_." She pointed at Jane, then flung herself back onto the couch—but not fast enough to avoid Jane's stricken look.

"Not to mention that we're now being excluded from the planning of the raid," Sif grunted.

"I excluded myself," Pepper muttered. "Told Fury I was suffering from sudden, acute nausea."

Silence filled the room. Marie slowly took a breath.

"She was touching Logan, too," she murmured. Sif glanced over at her. Marie turned her gaze to the floor. "She grabbed his hand, once."

Pepper closed her magazine. Jane squeezed her eyes shut.

"What's her name, again?" Marie asked. Sif stared at the ceiling.

"Romanov," she said through her teeth. "Natasha Romanov."

_To be continued…_

_Please review!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Ah, I've missed you all so! So nice to hear from all of you again! :) _

_Also, regarding Natasha, I shall refer you to her own phrase of choice: "Fallaces sunt rerum species." _

_In the second section, I listened to "Lament for Gandalf." _

_Enjoy!_

_VVV_

Chapter Eight

"_The world is changed._

_I feel it in the water._

_I feel it in the earth._

_I smell it in the air._

_.._

_Darkness crept back into the forests of the world._

_Rumor grew of a shadow in the East_

_Whispers of a nameless fear…"_

_-Lord of the Rings_

Steve sat back in his chair and shook his head.

"Nobody seems to remember that our attack plans are worthless if we don't know where those two are."

Logan took his cigar out of his mouth and set his elbows on the table.

"Yeah, well—all that techie tracking we did yesterday didn't seem to get us any closer to finding them."

Steve glanced around the small, otherwise-empty dining area—the few square tables, the industrial chairs, low ceiling and fluorescent lights—and fought back a sudden feeling of claustrophobia. He looked at Logan again, and folded his arms.

"What do the professor and Erik have to say about it?" he asked. "I saw you talking to Xavier last night before lights out."

"I wasn't talking about that," Logan muttered, puffing on his cigar again. Steve frowned.

"What were you talking about?"

"Magneto," Logan growled, shooting him a look. "I don't like him anywhere near here, listening to us—don't like him knowing where all of us are camped out. It's not a good idea."

Steve's frown deepened. He took a breath, then stopped himself, and glanced away. Then, he cast Logan a sideways glance and half smiled.

"You know," he commented. "You're the only guy I've ever met who smokes a cigar ten minutes after breakfast."

Logan chuckled and shook his head.

"Old habits."

"Yeah," Steve murmured, glancing at the tabletop.

"Speaking of old habits," Logan said, pushing his chair back and getting up noisily. "I'm gonna check the perimeter again, then talk to the Colonel about doing some _actual _reconnaissance. Want to come along?"

Steve shrugged.

"I'll catch up with you."

"'Kay," Logan said, slapping his shoulder. "Don't sit still too long, though. You'll go stir crazy."

"Halfway there already."

Logan chuckled as he strode out of the room, the scent of his cigar smoke trailing after him. Steve sighed, setting his jaw, letting his eyes unfocus as he gazed at the white tabletop.

It was true—they still didn't know where this Dr. Doom and Schmidt were hiding out. With all their advanced Stark-Industries equipment, tips from various spy networks, and state-of-the-art tracking devices, they couldn't pinpoint—or even guess at—a precise location for the two doctors' base. Xavier had talked about going back to his mutant school to utilize Cerebro again, which had caused an argument between Xavier and Logan and Magneto and Colonel Fury. Xavier wanted to go, and take Magneto with him. Logan protested against Magneto's presence in the school. Xavier argued that it was essential, and said he wanted Logan to stay behind in the SHIELD compound with the others, to be ready to strike once Xavier learned the exact location of their enemies. Of course, this proposal caused an uproar, until Colonel Fury said that if Xavier and Magneto went back to the school, he would accompany them, and be the one to verify their information.

Steve tapped his fingers on the table. Now, he just wondered what that entailed for the rest of them. Waiting around here indefinitely, underground, until they were delivered some kind of news…?

His thoughts trailed off as a shadow moved in the door. His hand closed, and he straightened slightly, frowning.

Then, he heard the quiet tap of high-heels on tile flooring, and the black-clad, sleek figure of Natasha Romanov strolled toward him.

Steve tried not to bite the inside of his cheek, and gave her a polite smile and a nod when she drew near and sat down in Logan's chair.

"Hi, Cap," she said quietly, shooting him an affectionate smile and a twinkling glance as she set her elbows on the table. "A penny for your thoughts."

Steve glanced up at her, then his brow furrowed. He hesitated for a second, then his curiosity finally got the better of him.

"Do you do this on purpose?"

She blinked.

"Do what?" she asked.

"This," he said, gesturing to her. She laughed, then sat up.

"I don't know what you mean," she shook her head.

"Sure you do," he said. "Most beautiful women know exactly what they're doing."

She glanced down, fluttering her long eyelashes once.

"Thanks for the compliment…I think," she said, wrinkling her nose endearingly and glancing up at him.

"It was a compliment," Steve nodded, rubbing his thumb back and forth against the edge of the table. "You're smart and lovely and confident." He met her eyes. "But I think there are probably other guys who would appreciate your attention more."

She watched him, her smile fading, her eyebrows coming together. He folded his hands in his lap, and bit his cheek again as he re-thought what he was about to say. But after watching her all day yesterday—he'd lost all his reservations.

"You've been flirting with me ever since I came here, Miss Romanov," he finally said. "And I'm flattered. You're a nice girl. But I have to tell you that I'm not interested."

One corner of her mouth lifted, and she kept his gaze, lifting one eyebrow.

"Would it be polite to ask why not?"

He shrugged.

"I've already got a girl. And actually…" he took a deep breath, then just took the plunge. "So do the other fellas. I mean, not Fury or Coulson, I guess, but—both Odinsons, and Mr. Stark, and I think Mr. Logan, too. Not sure about him, but…" He sighed. "I can't speak for them, though. I can just be honest about myself." He got up, the smallness of this room suddenly pressing on him. "I've got some stuff to do. Have a good day, Agent Romanov—and I'll see you later when the Colonel calls us in."

With that, he strode out of the room, pushing the swinging door aside, not looking back to see if she watched him. He had to get out of here—he _had _to get some relief from all this—and there was only one place he had a chance of finding it.

AAAAA

Thor paused a moment in the doorway, then braced himself and strode out across the gray gravel of the roof of the building above the SHIELD compound. Loki, who stood at the railing near the corner, glanced briefly over his shoulder at him before returning his frown to the skyline. The chill wind gusted through Thor's hair and clothes, and caught Loki's as well. Thor glanced up high. Low slate clouds hung over this long, thin island called Manhattan—and the distant edge of the sea looked gray, cold. He drew up next to Loki and grasped the cold metal railing with both hands. Then, he leaned forward and glanced down at the plummeting height.

"It looks as if we are up as high as the north-east tower at home," Thor commented. Loki let out a short sigh. Thor glanced at him. His brother's ebony hair tousled in the wind. His eyes narrowed, and his face looked even paler than usual against his totally black clothes.

"Is something wrong?" Thor asked, turning toward him. Loki folded his arms, his mouth tightening.

"Yes," Loki said.

Thor stilled, focusing on his brother, listening as the wind whistled through the tall, thin metal poles that lined the roof.

"What is it?" Thor asked.

Loki shook his head, once. Thor waited, studying the lines of Loki's face.

"A shadow," Loki said at last, his voice low and deliberate. "Huddling around the edges of my mind. It follows me wherever I go, awake or asleep." Loki lifted his eyes to the dark clouds on the horizon. "It feels like…a wraith is watching from the far window of a tower. It has no face, no name—and its fingers crawl underground toward us through the spines and bones of the metal buildings of this island." He took a slow breath. "A cold, thin, invisible shroud covers me while I sleep, like a layer of cobweb." Loki ran his left hand along the railing. "And it slips needles of poison under the first layer of my skin until I am sick and cold and sweating."

Thor straightened, his brow furrowing.

"Is it Doom?"

Loki's gaze slowly drifted across the far off rooftops.

"No," he said. "And yes."

Thor stepped closer to him, never taking his eyes from him.

"Here, in the breathing of this messy, noisy city—I hear it like a pulse when I am down below," Loki said. "Up here, it's just a whisper. But no matter where I am, I can't understand the words."

"Is it a warning?" Thor supposed. Loki lifted his chin.

"No," he murmured again. "No more than you would use your heartbeat to betray where you were."

Thor's eyes narrowed to slits.

"You sense them, then," he said. "Without their knowledge."

Loki's eyebrows came together hard, his gaze absent.

"Perhaps," he whispered. "The presence is veiled, and seems as far away—yet sometimes, it's as close as you are to me." Loki paused, then drew in a deep breath, and shifted. "How old are we, brother?"

Thor's shoulders lowered, and gazed out at the distant sea. He did not need to answer—his age was something he felt in his depths, especially when he was near a young, vibrant mortal like Stark. He knew the same was true for Loki.

"This realm is full of new, strange ideas and methods," Loki noted. "Rude weapons and shallow illusions, tangled devices and all manner of cages and fresh enslavements." He shook his head again. "But the deepest part of this shadow is not new. It tastes…familiar. Wine that has almost become vinegar. So old. Like the roots of Yggdrasil."

Thor frowned.

"So…it isn't from this realm at all?"

Loki finally turned his head and looked at him, earnestness in his bright eyes.

"I don't know," he admitted, reaching out to grip the railing as well. "It is a cocktail of ancient and young bleeding together; elemental, yet knotted and twisted on the surface." He hit the rail with the heel of his left hand. It rang dully. "I can't make any sense of it. And I can't very well do an echo spell up here. The mortals would have a fit."

"And then start shooting at us again," Thor added, smirking. Loki half shrugged and nodded.

"Probably."

Thor became serious again, turning his brother's words over in his mind.

"How long have you sensed this?" he asked. Loki thought a moment, then glanced down.

"Ever since we hit Midgard," he said. "But I…It was muddled at first. Not like now."

Thor lowered his head, being careful.

"Do you think this is what is troubling Jane?"

Loki's throat spasmed, and he swallowed He let out a swift, labored breath, clamped his hands around the railing and gritted his teeth.

"I don't know," he said. "She's hiding from me."

Thor frowned.

"What? I saw her this morning with you—"

"No," Loki shook his head, shooting his brother a glance. "She's hiding—_lying_—to me."

Thor stood straight up, eyebrows raised.

"What? Why would she do that?"

Loki ground his teeth.

"If I knew _that_…"

"Yes, yes," Thor held up a hand. "I just can't see any reason why she would. She trusts you."

Loki shook his head, glaring out at the tall buildings.

"There is a barrier around her and I cannot penetrate it. I've tried."

"Have you asked her—"

"Yes," Loki snapped. "She just says she's ill, or tired."

Thor gazed at him a moment, watching the unrest seethe beneath his brother's icy surface. He stepped toward him, and put his broad hand on his shoulder. Loki straightened, eyes flickering, folding his arms again. Thor kept his hand where it was, and leaned his head closer to Loki's.

"Ask her again," he urged. "Perhaps she does not know how worried you are—perhaps she is trying to spare you from _more _worry."

Loki bowed his head. Thor smiled at him.

"We're all so fond of her," Thor said. "Sometimes we forget how young she is."

Loki met his eyes, and Thor looked back at him as steadily as he could. Finally, Loki gave a single nod.

"Come," Thor slapped his shoulder. "We must tell the others what you've been learning. Perhaps the mind-reader can help us understand it."

Loki snorted and lifted his right eyebrow.

"You don't trust them any more than I do."

"True," Thor acknowledged, then grinned. "But they don't need to know that." Thor stepped back toward the door, beckoning to Loki. "Come."

"I will," Loki said, looking back out over the city. "After I go out for a while."

Thor frowned.

"Out?"

"You and Stark have gone flying several times—I haven't left this compound once," Loki said.

Thor tried to keep the tightness he felt in his chest from showing on his face.

"All right," he nodded. "But be careful out in these streets."

Loki glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and gave a crooked smile.

"No one will even know I'm there."

AAAAA

Steve paced along the sidewalk, head down, hands in his jacket pockets, automatically weaving through the endless stream of businessmen and women, dog walkers and tourists. New York might not have been this ridiculous in his day, but it had still been crowded and noisy—he knew how to get around through stupidly thick crowds.

Clouds hid the sun, making everything gray and close. The buildings loomed overhead like the walls of a canyon. Hundreds of cars and yellow cabs raced in both directions up and down the street to his left, honking, skidding and rumbling. It must have rained last night, because puddles had formed in the gutters, making it necessary for him to hug closer to the shop doors for fear of being violently splashed.

He paused on a street corner near a dingy light pole, and looked up. The signal light across the way turned green and the pedestrians stepped out into the dirty street, but Steve stayed where he was, gazing up at the buildings that marked the four corners of this intersection.

His heart felt like a stone inside his chest. The chaos of the city faded to silence all around him. His eyes traced the brickwork, the windows, the signs, the cloth awnings and the storefronts—the people, the cars, the blowing trash. But he recognized none of it. And he should have. After all, the signs told him he was on Fifth Avenue. He'd been here hundreds of times.

Lowering his head, he closed his eyes, and clenched his hands into fists inside his pockets. The cacophony of the city resumed—he clamped his teeth, trying to block it out. But his gut twisted and his chest felt like it was caving in. He had no chance of finding it now…

He shoved away from the light pole, knocked through several people, and bashed through a door before knowing where he was going. The overhead bell rang hysterically, jarring him into forcing his eyes open. He stopped, blinking rapidly, and glanced around.

He was in a bookshop. An old one. Tall, wooden shelves that made a maze out of the small space were packed with dusty volumes. Steve cleared his throat, straightened and tried to gather himself. He stepped forward on the black-and-white tiled floor—the white tiles had yellowed. It was quiet in here. He could make out the sound of a big clock ticking somewhere in the back. The roar of the traffic had dimmed to almost nothing.

He rounded one shelf, and noticed a middle-aged man seated behind the check-out counter, leaning back and reading a copy of the New York Times through a set of spectacles that sat low on his nose. Steve hesitated, but his footsteps had been too loud. The man lowered his paper, found Steve with his bright black eyes, and raised his bushy eyebrows.

"Can I help you?"

Steve cleared his throat again.

"I, uh…" he tried, shifting his weight. "I've been here before—not _here_ here, but to New York…" He gestured helplessly with one hand. "It was a long time ago, though, and I've kind of lost my bearings."

The man put his rustling paper down on the counter and leaned forward, wrinkled brow furrowing.

"What do you need to find?"

"Um," Steve rammed his hands in his pockets, silently praying. "I was wondering…if you could point me in the direction of the Stork Club."

The man watched him.

"You've been there?"

"Well…yeah, once. Long time ago," Steve answered, stomach tense. The man looked him up and down.

"Then you're remarkably well-preserved," he remarked. Steve instantly backpedaled.

"I…well, maybe I'm thinking of the wrong place."

"You must be," the man nodded, setting his elbows on the counter. "The Stork Club was torn down in 1965, I think."

Steve stopped breathing. All at once, his head started buzzing. He forced his eyebrows up into an interested expression.

"Oh…It was?" he managed.

"Yeah, yeah," the man nodded, waving it off. "It's Paley Park, now. Five East Fifty-Third Street, just east of Fifth Avenue here." He grinned. "I wouldn't know that, except my parents went dancing at that club when they were dating."

"Your parents…" Steve said faintly.

"Yeah, it's a real pretty park now," the bookkeeper said. "Trees, cobblestone—there's even a waterfall at the far end. You should go look at it, even if that's not where you're headed."

"Thanks," Steve nodded, swallowing. "I just might."

The bookkeeper watched him a moment longer, his smile softening.

"You okay, kid?"

Steve took a deep breath, steadying himself, and nodded at the floor.

"Yeah," he said, then looked up and gave the man as real of a smile as he could manage. "It's just…kind of unnerving being lost."

"I understand," the man said. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," Steve said, gave him a half salute, turned, and pulled the door open, careful to only let the bell jingle quietly.

He winced as the rage of the street noise and the smell of car exhaust hit him again, but he heaved a breath and set his teeth. Fine. Everything else in this entire city might have changed, but at least the street names had stuck. Five East Fifty-Third Street? He could find that.

AAAAA

Steve heard the sound of the waterfall before he saw the gap between the two buildings. He slowed his strides, and lifted his head, and gazed into the deep, narrow hole where the Stork Club used to stand.

On either side, as if guarding the entrance, stood two brick structures with doors—Steve could smell the scent of hot dogs wafting out of one of them. Beyond, the place looked like a cobblestone courtyard—a few tall, thin trees grew, as did the late-fall orange flowers in wide pots. Cascades of ivy draped over the side walls, and a tall, foaming waterfall formed the far wall, its tumbling hiss silencing the rumble of the traffic. White metal picnic furniture lined the side walls, and a few people sat at the round tables talking, reading, or sitting alone drinking coffee. The whole park was quiet, shaded and secluded—a sanctuary in the middle of chaos.

Steve stepped up the stairs, hands still in his pockets, and strolled slowly inside, glancing up at the yellow foliage of the trees. Once in a while, one of their leaves drifted down through the air, to land on the cobbles or a table.

He walked right down the middle, past the people eating and drinking and chatting, and paused in front of the great waterfall. Off to his left, he briefly saw a very old, white-haired lady sitting alone in one of the chairs. He smiled without meeting her eyes, and looked back up at the falls. At the highest point, a bit of sun caught the peak of the waterfall, just before it plunged down—and for just an instant, it shimmered. He tried to take a breath, to smell the spray of the water, and the leaves, and the rain that still hung in the air from last night. But his ribs felt like iron, his gut twisted and tense. He hung his head, and shut his eyes.

He'd been lying to himself, hoping that he'd find some relief out here, in his old city. But there couldn't be any relief. Everything was gone. He was still lost.

"Steve?"

He didn't stir. It was so faint, he knew he was imagining it.

Until it was repeated.

"Steve?"

He opened his eyes.

"Is that you?"

He blinked. Slowly, he turned to his left, toward the sound of the quiet, weathered voice.

The old lady was looking at him. Right at him. She wore a muted red dress with a belt, and her wavy white hair was done up in a loose bun. She held a book in her gnarled hands. A walker stood by her chair. And her dark brown eyes fixed on him.

"I…" he stammered. His mouth worked for a second, opening and closing. His forehead tightened, and he turned toward her. "Me?"

She studied him a moment, her gaze never wavering.

"Is your name Steve?" she asked. He absently noticed that she had a mild accent…Not American...

"Yeah," he nodded. "Steve Rogers."

For several minutes, neither of them moved or spoke. They stared at each other, breaths held, as if both stood on the edge of a precipice.

Then, a very soft, slow smile bloomed on the woman's face, lighting her chestnut eyes—and at the same time flooding her frame with sorrow. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she canted her head.

"Steve," she whispered, reaching out with her palsied left hand. "It's me."

His heart stopped.

His mind went blank.

His feet slid forward of their own accord. It took a year's time to cross the two meters of cobbles between them—and when he finally stood in front of her, his knees went so weak he had to bend them, and kneel down in front of her.

Her trembling hand caught his. The touch shocked him. She squeezed his fingers, using all her frail strength. Her skin felt soft, fragile. He returned the hold, gently. He never took his eyes off her face.

Her weathered face. She was very pale—he glimpsed veins in her temples and her neck. Deep smile lines marked her eyes and around her mouth. Sun spots dotted her forehead and nose. A stray curl had come loose, and lay across her forehead, just above her eyes.

Dark brown eyes—warm and brilliant. Where once a fire had blazed, the embers still burned, sparking and twinkling as he gazed into their depths. But the strength had left her body. The straight and tall had been replaced by the bent and tired. And the unmistakable feel of a wedding ring cooled the space between their fingers.

Her image clouded. And before it registered, Steve was weeping.

Tears spilled down his face and stung him. He let out a soft, strangled gasp, and he leaned forward, pressing his trembling lips to the back of her knotted hand.

Her other hand came to rest on his head, and caressed his hair. His body shuddered, and he screwed his eyes shut, even as more tears fell and trailed across their intertwined hands. Steve drew in a breath—it hurt sharply, like a freezing winter's day. He tried again, and his muscles turned to water. He swallowed hard, and lifted his head just an inch, so that his lips moved against the back of her hand—and he spoke the name he'd been saying in his heart every day since the moment he saw her.

"Peggy Carter."

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	10. Chapter 10

_As always, thanks so much! I'm ecstatic that you're all enjoying this :) Have a listen to the songs I mention in this chap—I think you'll like them:)_

_VVVVV_

Chapter Nine

"A sympathetic friend can be quite as dear as a brother."  
**-**Homer

"So…" Steve murmured. "What have you been up to, Peggy?"

Half an hour had passed in complete silence before he could summon enough strength to ask that question. Now, he sat in a chair across from her, their knees touching, their hands clasped, his head bowed low. He felt Peggy take a breath, and straighten a little.

"Well…" she began. "I…helped the Allies and the division throughout the rest of the war, taking out pockets of Hydra resistance…" She paused, then laughed lightly. "Sounds so odd to talk about it—I haven't thought of it for years…"

Steve swallowed, closing his eyes. Her voice sounded almost the same. Just a little ragged around the edges, but still bearing that proper British clip, even when quiet. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine she looked the same as he remembered, too…

"When the war was over, I stayed in the Army, helping rebuild after the damage the Axis Powers had done. I also worked with several others, like Howard Stark and a few other exceptional men, to lay the foundations for something they were going to call the Strategic Homeland Intelligence…something or other," she sighed.

"Really…" Steve murmured, half smiling.

"Yes. And I…I got married."

He opened his eyes. He gazed down at their hands—one pair so strong and smooth, the other pair arthritic and fragile—and at the simple gold band on her left hand. He lifted his head, and met her eyes.

She was waiting, hesitating. And he waited too—for the ton of bricks to land on his chest. But they didn't. So he risked taking a deep breath. It came. So he nodded. Peggy shifted.

"To an old friend of yours, actually," she said. "Montgomery Falsworth."

A reflexive smile found its way across Steve's face—and surprisingly, it stayed.

"Monty?" he said. "So he…He survived?"

"Oh, yes," Peggy smiled wryly, her gaze twinkling. She turned her attention to their hands. Steve's smile faded, and he watched her.

"Any kids?" he asked.

"No," Peggy sighed, shaking her head. "Just didn't seem to work out." She went silent, then put on a gentle smile and glanced up at him. "He died fifteen years ago."

Steve's next question just fell out of his mouth. But once it was in the open air, he didn't regret it.

"You loved him?"

Peggy's smile became even gentler—and earnest.

"Yes," she murmured. She tilted her head, and her eyebrows came together. "Does that upset you?"

"No. No, of course not," Steve said quickly, shaking his head. "He's…He was a good man. I'm glad. I'm glad you didn't wait for me."

"I did wait for you," she cut in. Steve blinked.

"You did?"

She nodded.

"I had a permanent position here in New York, and every Saturday night I came here, to the Stork Club. Eight o'clock on the dot."

Steve's throat closed and he couldn't move. But her brown eyes held him captive. She shrugged one shoulder.

"It was actually how I became re-acquainted with Monty," she went on. "When he was on leave, he discovered that I came here, and he found me. I expected him to try to dissuade me from my ritual, calling it foolish hoping. But he didn't." That gentle, sad smile returned. "He sat down with me, had a pint and chatted with me about the old days—and about you. And we did that every time he was on leave, until…" She shrugged again.

Steve nodded, and looked down again, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.

"So…what about you?" Peggy asked, leaning forward. "What have you been doing the past few decades?" He felt her hands start to quiver a little. "Gone on adventures?" she guessed. "Taken another name and become an undercover spy? Scoured the world for Nazis, Communists and terrorists?"

Steve suddenly heard pain in her voice—pain behind a tight bravado. He looked up at her, eyes wide.

"You…You think I've been off doing that kind of thing while you…?" he couldn't finish. She straightened, raising her eyebrows and smoothing her expression.

"Well—I don't know," she said. "I…Well, that's why I asked."

He stared fervently at her, squeezing her hands.

"Peggy, I've been in a coma," he said slowly. "They _just_ fished me out of the ice, in the middle of the wreck of Schmidt's plane."

Her lips parted, and then she closed her mouth and swallowed hard.

"So…How long has it…" She paused, and steadied her voice. "How long does it _feel _like it's been…since you last saw me?"

Steve took a shuddering breath.

"About a month."

Peggy's eyes darted away, filling with tears again, and she pulled one hand loose.

"I must…I look like…" she stammered, smoothing the sides of her hair. She laughed weakly as one of her tears spilled. "You still look so handsome, and I…"

"Peggy," he said swiftly, reaching out to put a hand to the side of her face. Her eyes flew to his. He leaned closer, and brushed her tear away. He gave her a quiet smile.

"You're still the most beautiful dame I've ever seen."

She laughed brokenly—and he heard the echo of the voice of the young woman he knew—the one who still lived. Just in a different shell.

"Hey, Peggy," he said, clasping both her hands with both of his again and forcing energy into his tone. "I've uh…I've made a few friends since I woke up. I'd like you to meet them. Want to…I dunno, come say hello and then grab a bite to eat?"

He watched her, waited for her to shake her head, to protest, to say she had somewhere to be…

"Steve," she breathed, beaming at him, her eyes alight. "I have been waiting sixty-six years for you to ask me that."

AAAAA

In the shadow of the brick wall, Loki stood, motionless, wrapped in a long black coat and a silencing spell. A mortal's hearing would have been muddled by the spill of the waterfall, and the distance at which he stood. But Loki had caught every word.

He watched around the corner, barely breathing, as Steve stood up, and offered the white-haired woman, Peggy, his arm. They smiled at each other, the trails of their tears still marking their faces—but neither seemed to care. They walked slowly toward the door of the courtyard, as if they were the only two people in the world. Steve helped her down the stairs—a painstaking job—and shuffled with her toward the sidewalk. Right past Loki.

Loki held his breath, frozen, as they stood in front of him. Then, Steve raised his hand and hailed one of those yellow vehicles. When it pulled up to the curb and stopped, Steve opened the door and helped Peggy in, then slid in after her. The door slammed shut. The engine revved and the cab drove off, joining the flow of traffic.

Loki released his chest and breathed again—and when he did, he inhaled a deep, sweet, rich sorrow that flooded his veins. He lowered his head, leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes as it washed through him like the tide.

He stood like this for a very long time. The city bustled all around him, but he didn't hear it, or pay any attention to it.

At last, he lifted his dark head. He turned, and gazed at the place where the cab had disappeared a long time ago. A hidden glow guttered in his chest. And he quietly smiled.

AAAAA

Pepper frowned as she stuck her head out of her room. Marie had just done the exact same thing, right across the hall. They met each other's eyes.

"Did you hear that?" Marie asked. Pepper nodded.

"Something's going on." She stepped out into the hall and shut the door—just in time to see Sif and Jane, who roomed further down, start toward the main room. Sif apparently heard Pepper's door shut, because she turned back toward her.

"We heard something," she called.

"We'll come with you," Marie said. Jane's steps stalled as well, and she waited for the other women to catch up. Pepper smiled at her, and hooked her arm through Jane's as the four women began to walk.

"How are you feeling?" Pepper asked.

Jane smiled.

"Much better, thanks."

"I love it how they tell us what is going on around here," Sif muttered caustically, rolling her eyes. "I haven't felt this disregarded since my hair changed color."

Marie looked at her.

"What?"

"Long story," Sif sighed. Their footsteps made a chorus of tapping on the tiles. With her free hand, Pepper reached in her pocket and pulled out her phone.

"I asked to be kept in the loop," she said, frowning at her phone, which showed no new messages. "I specifically told Coulson…"

"Romanov is in charge of everything here," Jane said flatly, looking straight ahead. "Not Coulson."

"That explains it," Marie said.

"And how are _you _today, Lady Marie?" Sif asked Marie, glancing down her and briefly squeezing her hand.

"Wait," Marie said, slowing for a second to pull off her glove. Then, she grabbed Sif's hand again. Pepper grinned, and she saw Jane do the same.

"Sorry," Marie drew herself up and tossed her white streak of hair out of her face. "But I feel like holding your hand, Lady Sif." She canted her head at the taller woman. "Is that okay?"

Sif laughed.

"Of course it is," she said. "We are friends."

Marie smiled up at her, then at Pepper and Jane. Pepper ducked her head and pulled closer to Jane, a warm sense of comfort coming over her as she walked in step with the other women. The four of them rounded a corner and entered the tall war room…

And slowed to a stop.

Steve had come in from the right hand door, wearing jeans and a jacket, his face flushed and bright. And with his strong right arm, he supported a fragile wisp of a white-haired old woman. And old woman who was gazing up at Steve like a young girl who had just been escorted to the prom by the boy of her dreams.

Pepper's heart slowed, and then her whole frame filled with warmth. And in that instant, as a few fragments of her knowledge and research clicked together in her head, she couldn't keep the tears from springing to her eyes.

Footsteps sounded across the room—Nick Fury strode across, beaming, his long coat rustling behind him.

"Hi, Steve," Fury came up to greet him, then looked down at the lady very knowingly. "Who did you find?"

"Well, the world seems to be full of surprises today," the lady said, looking Fury up and down. She raised her eyebrows. "Am I the only one who looks a day past forty-five?"

Fury laughed heartily—Pepper jumped. She'd never heard him make a sound like that. He stuck out his hand to the lady.

"It's very good to see you again, Peggy."

She returned the sincere smile and grasped his hand.

"Good to see you too, Nick."

"Well, you've come to a sort of party," Nick said, putting his hands on his hips and turning toward Jane and the other women. "This is Jane Odinson, formerly Jane Foster, the woman who formulated the Foster Theory—gateways to other realms, that sort of thing."

"Oh…!" Peggy said, startled.

"And this is Pepper Potts," Fury gestured to Pepper, who still held tight to Jane's arm. "Assistant to world-famous engineer and scientist Tony Stark."

"Yes," Peggy smiled, glancing at Pepper. "Howard's boy."

Pepper's mouth fell open, but she couldn't say anything because Fury went on.

"Next to her is Lady Sif, closest friend of Thor Odinson. And next to her is Marie, one of the senior X-Men." Fury drew himself up. "Ladies, this is Agent Peggy Montgomery, formerly Agent Carter. She was possibly the very first SHIELD agent, she helped select the first and only subject for the U.S. Super Soldier project, and she—"

"She's my girl," Steve finished, never taking his eyes from her. Peggy glanced up at him, and patted his arm. Pepper felt struck in the chest, hardly able to breathe.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Marie said, remembering her manners for all of them. Peggy gave her a kind look.

"Nice to meet you too, sweetheart."

Far doors clanged open. Fury turned.

"And _here _are all the men who belong to these ladies."

Pepper leaned around Sif to see Tony charge in from the dining area, flanked by Thor, followed by Logan, and trailed after by Loki. Tony, Thor and Logan were talking so loudly and so rapid-fire that Jane knew none of them could hear what the others were saying. All of them wore scowls, and gestured emphatically—except Loki, who just looked pale and livid.

"_Gentlemen_," Fury bellowed. The four slowed down, their eyes falling on the newcomers. And then, Peggy's expression lit up.

"Anthony!" she said. Tony blinked and straightened.

"Um…yeah?"

Taking her cue, Steve led her closer to the group of men. Tony stayed still, his brow twisting in uncertainty. Peggy let go of Steve with one hand and grasped Tony's hand.

"I knew you when you were a little, little boy," Peggy whispered. "And I knew your dad. He was a good man and an excellent pilot—the smartest person I've ever known."

Pepper expected Tony to say something like _"Well, you don't know _me_ yet."_ But he didn't. As she watched, his whole bearing softened, and his dark eyes became gentle.

"Peggy Carter," he murmured, leaning toward her and taking hold of her hand with both of his. "You're Peggy Carter. My dad talked about you. Said you were the prettiest and bravest girl he'd ever run into."

"He was always a flatterer," Peggy laughed. "But I would thank him." She squeezed Tony's hands. "He loved you so much—he was so thrilled to have a little boy. Always said how brilliant you were, how you were going to do so much more than he ever could."

Tony ducked his head, and cleared his throat. Pepper pressed her fingers to her lips, swallowing hard, her heart contracting.

"Thanks," Tony said huskily—and that was all he could say.

"And…_you _look familiar, too," Peggy remarked, studying Logan. "I can't place where I've seen you, though…"

"I've been getting that a lot lately," Logan said roughly, but he softened it with a half smile that almost looked endearing. Then, Peggy lifted her attention to Thor and Loki. Her eyes widened.

"Neither of _you_ do, though," she remarked. "But my goodness, what handsome young men!"

Thor chuckled and shifted his weight. Pepper actually spotted Loki blushing before he looked away.

"Have you eaten yet, Agent?" Fury asked her.

"No," Peggy confessed. "I've had quite a busy morning."

"Well, the best we can do to make amends for interrupting your day is feed you," Fury said, gesturing toward the doors. "Is that all right?"

"Of course!" she said, and as she and Steve slowly made their way across the room, everyone else followed, pulled by an invisible cord, unwilling to leave the glow of Peggy's presence.

AAAAA

Jane stood, arms folded, listening with a small smile as Peggy told a long, detailed and harrowing story of one of Steve's adventures raiding a Hydra base _alone, _and rescuing more than two-hundred men. Peggy sat in a corner couch, Steve on one side, Fury on the other. The rest of them—Tony, Logan, Thor, Loki, Sif, Pepper, Marie and Jane—sat or stood in a close gathering around her, listening raptly, asking questions, and even laughing when Peggy's sharp British wit met with a humorous bump in the story.

Jane glanced around at the group. Logan leaned against the wall across from Jane, next to Fury, his cigar smoke trailing up to the ceiling. Marie stood next to him, resting her head easily against his shoulder—occasionally, Logan would whisper something to her, and she would smile. Tony sat on a kitchen chair almost right in front of Peggy, and Pepper stood beside him, leaning her hip on the side of the chair. Tony would sometimes grin up at her, or absently touch her fingers, just to make sure she was still there. Thor sat on the floor on a displaced couch cushion, and Sif on a short stool right next to him. Jane watched as Thor, whilst asking Peggy a question about Steve's attack strategy, shifted closer to Sif and leaned his head and shoulder against her leg, without thinking about it. Jane watched as Sif cautiously reached down and touched his golden hair with her fingertips. He did not pull away—he was listening to Peggy's answer—but he briefly touched his forehead to her knee, and Jane saw Sif's frame relax.

Natasha Romanov was nowhere to be found.

Jane took a breath and turned her attention to her left. Loki stood in shadow, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed. Jane glanced at the others, then gingerly stepped around Pepper and came up to Loki's side. She slipped her hands around his elbow, pressed herself against him and kissed his shoulder. He dipped his head toward her and his lips grazed her forehead.

"Hello," he murmured.

"Hello," she answered, rubbing her right hand up and down his bicep. She laid her head against his arm, gazing back at the group as they all burst out laughing. "What do you think of this?" she wondered.

Loki didn't answer, but she felt his slight smile. Jane's gaze crossed Peggy, then lingered on Steve. He hung on Peggy's every word, his blue eyes watching her every expression, reacting with obvious pleasure to every gesture and turn of phrase.

"Have you _ever_…" Jane murmured wonderingly. "Seen a man _look_ at a woman like that?"

"Perhaps," Loki answered—and she felt his breath on her hair. She turned and glanced up at him…

He was already gazing back at her. His eyes—deep emerald, half shadowed—went right through her.

Her heart swelled to hurting as her gaze flitted over his face—the strand of hair falling across his furrowed brow, his cheekbones, his nose, his lips…

She met his eyes again, and her breath caught hard, her heart hammering. She needed to be near him—needed to speak to him, just the two of them…

Loki's gaze flickered, and his delicate mouth formed a smile.

"You look tired."

She sighed, and lowered her head.

"I _am_ tired," she admitted, letting her head fall against his shoulder again. "But I _miss _you…"

"Oh, _alskling,_" he whispered, drawing his arm tight around her and kissing her forehead. She leaned into him, wrapping her fingers around the front of his shirt.

"I have missed you too," he said, laying his cheek against the side of her head. He took a deep breath. "Come sit with me tonight?"

She drew back and looked up at him.

"In the room?"

He shook his head, then glanced to the side, as if to be sure they were not being overheard.

"No. I want to show you something I discovered."

She looked at him sideways, frowning.

"What?"

He leaned forward, and whispered in her ear.

"I found a _window_."

She bit back a laugh, and he shot her a crooked grin.

"All right," she chuckled. "Now?"

"No, no. I have a devilish plan to carry out that I've been concocting all day," he said, glancing toward the others again. He turned back to her. "East hallway, farthest door on the left. Let's say…eleven o'clock, on the dot."

Jane blinked.

"On the dot?" she repeated. He shrugged.

"A new turn of phrase I picked up recently."

She smiled at him, unable to hide it, and nodded.

"Okay. It's a date."

AAAAA

"All right, we're here. What's up?" Logan grunted, sitting down at a small, lone table across from Xavier. Magneto, wearing a gray suit and tie, stood beside Xavier's chair. Marie settled silently beside Logan—he felt her shoulder brush his.

"We've been discussing with Colonel Fury all day," Xavier said, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers. "And we've come to the conclusion that mere technological tracking methods are not precise enough to pinpoint Schmidt and Doom's location—not in time to stop whatever it is they're planning."

Logan glanced at Marie. She met his eyes without a word—he turned back to Xavier.

"So what's the plan?" he asked.

"I must utilize Cerebro again, try to focus my search—and I need Erik's help," Xavier answered. "The discussions we've had with the Odinson brothers concerning Loki's perceptions have confirmed that the doctors' plans are imminent—perhaps already in motion. This might help us trace their intentions."

"All right—we'll pack," Logan said, starting to scoot back in his chair. Xavier held up his hand.

"No—I want you to stay here."

Logan stopped.

"What?"

"Colonel Fury and Agent Coulson will accompany us," Xavier said. "They will communicate with the team here, relaying our findings. Romanov will act as the head SHIELD authority at this location."

"But why can't we come with you?" Marie asked.

"_You_ may," Xavier answered. "But I'd like Logan to stay here in the compound, and be ready to strike with the rest of the team as soon as we discover Doom and Schmidt's location."

"But—" Marie protested.

"The rest of the _team_?" Logan demanded. "Meaning who?"

"Stark, Rogers, and the Odinsons," Xavier said. Logan was already shaking his head.

"Stark's a loose cannon," Logan growled. "And the younger Odinson, Loki—he gives me the creeps."

"I can see why he would," Magneto remarked. "He never simply says the first thing that pops into his head—and he appears to have manners."

"Shut up," Logan snapped. Magneto smiled coldly, his gray eyes glittering.

"My point exactly."

"Logan, I know I can count on you—that's why I want you here," Xavier cut in. "Marie is free to go either place she wishes."

"I'm staying here," Marie answered firmly. Logan huffed, then turned to her.

"I almost argued with you, there," he said. "But I think I'd actually feel better with you here…" he turned a withering glare to Magneto. "Instead of anywhere _close _to the freak who tried to suck the life out of you." He leveled a flat look at Xavier. "Are you really serious? You're taking _him _to the school—" he pointed at Magneto. "—and you're just crossing your fingers and hoping that he won't kill you and everybody else in their beds."

"Listen to yourself, young man," Magneto scoffed. "You're so busy holding a grudge you're not taking the trouble to _think_."

"I don't have to—" Logan shot back.

"There is no one on this _planet _I despise more than a Nazi," Magneto snarled. "And I will assist _anyone _if his goal is to bring a Nazi to death." He paused, and lifted his head. "And someday, if you're lucky enough to break some of your vile habits, you might earn a friend whose life is more valuable to you than your own—who you would help with anything if he sincerely asked for it, regardless of the damage to your person or your pride…" Magneto lowered his voice, and raised his eyebrows. "Because you know he would do the same for you."

Silence fell. Logan's chest constricted as he glanced between Xavier and Erik. Finally, he sat back, and shrugged.

"Fine. I'll stay here, and you guys can go." He looked to Xavier. "But Marie stays with me."

"Fair enough," Xavier nodded. "We'll keep in touch."

AAAAA

Loki swept silently through the shadowed halls, listening. Making certain everyone else had retired to his room, or to his post. He had watched all evening, waiting for his opportunity—and now it had come. True, he had only minutes. But he didn't plan to waste them.

He turned a corner, and slowed, pausing like a phantom outside of the gymnasium. The room was lit by hanging lights that gave a warm, almost golden glow to the plain floor and simple walls. And there, at the far end, sitting at a table, was Peggy. She sat alone, gazing at the hanging punching bag on the other side of the room. Wisps of her white hair hung loose. She looked weary.

Loki clasped his hands behind his back and strolled inside, letting his footsteps tap as he walked, and letting his long tunic rustle. She turned her head and met his eyes. But she didn't straighten—he could tell she was tired.

"So…It's you," she said. "The one who stands in the corner alone, looking frightening. I've been wondering about you. All night."

Loki came to stand in front of her, and cocked his head.

"Have you?"

She nodded once.

"You are very quiet, very mysterious," she said. "Not at all like your big, good-looking brother."

Loki chuckled and glanced down for a moment.

"And everyone tells me you are trouble," she went on, arching an eyebrow. "Dangerous, even. That you're not who you say you are—and you're not at all whatyou _appear_ to be."

"I imagine there's some truth to all of that," Loki said quietly, meeting her gaze again. She studied him, but not severely.

"But your wife is lovely," she said thoughtfully.

"Thank you," Loki said.

"So you can see why I am puzzled," Peggy sat back. Loki laughed.

"I suppose I can." He sobered again. "But I hope you will decide my character for yourself, based on what you learn of me, rather than what you hear of me."

"I would like to," she told him.

"Then may I plead a chance from you?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Allow me to do something for you," Loki said, stepping toward her. "It isn't much. It's an illusory spell, and it will only be brief—perhaps half an hour. But I would like to try it."

Peggy's eyes narrowed.

"A spell…"

"The gentlest kind," Loki assured her, holding out a placating hand. "But only if you can answer a question."

She looked at him sideways.

"What question?"

"There is a story my wife tells me, and I must know if you are familiar with it," he said. "Agent Carter, do you know the story of the little cinder girl?"

Peggy's dark eyes sparked.

"Yes, of course," she said.

Loki stayed still for a moment, then closed his eyes, bent at the waist and kissed her hair. He withdrew, just an inch.

"You have half an hour," he whispered. Then, he rose up, held his left hand out over her head—

And snapped his fingers.

AAAAA

Steve hurried back down the dark hall, carrying a cup of coffee and trying not to slosh the hot liquid onto his hand. He had left Peggy for just a minute in the gym, to go get her a drink, but being away from her voice for even this long…

His thoughts trailed off as he stepped into the light that spilled out into the hall. Then, his breath froze in his chest, his heart suspended its beating, and the entire earth stopped spinning.

Inside the room, at the table where he'd left Peggy, sat a woman in a red dress. A _young _woman—shapely and elegant, built like a classic movie star. She had perfect legs that showed beneath her knee-length skirt, and pale, smooth arms—graceful hands and scarlet nail polish. She had gently curling, dark brown hair that hung down to her shoulders. She turned…

Flashing chestnut eyes met his—long eyelashes, blushing cheeks, full red lips and strong, soft features greeted him.

"Steve!" Her voice—decades had lifted from it, making it light and sweet again. Slowly, she got to her feet, as if uncertain her legs would hold her. Then, when they did, she drew herself up to her full height and beamed a brilliant smile. Steve sucked in a breath, and almost dropped the coffee.

"Am I…" he stammered. "I mean, is this…?"

"I don't know," she laughed, shaking her head. She grinned and glanced down at herself. "But it…it certainly _feels _like…"

"What…What happened?" Steve gasped. "How…?"

"It…That tall dark chap, named Loki," Peggy said, gesturing to the door. "Said he had a spell he wanted to try. I had no idea what he meant by that, but…" She drew in her own shaking breath, and Steve suddenly felt the nervous excitement radiating off of her. "But after he snapped his fingers, I looked down at myself and I…I looked like…" she laughed out loud again, pressed her fingertips to her lips, then lowered her hands and gazed at them. "I can't believe it! This is impossible…" She gripped her fingers together, earnestly searching his face. "Isn't it?"

"You're asking the wrong person," Steve admitted, feeling light-headed. He stepped into the room, trying not to run headfirst into the pillars or the corner of the boxing ring. Absently, he set the coffee down on the table, then stood right in front of Peggy, eyes locked with hers.

Steve tried to breathe, tried to swallow, but nothing would work. This could _not _be real—none of it…

But when she reached out and took his hand, and he felt the warmth, the immediate softness of her fingers—everything suddenly felt more _real _than anything had since he'd woken up inside that fake recovery room.

They curled their fingers together, and she stepped closer to him—and he could breathe again. She smelled just as he remembered: like lilacs and gunpowder. She tilted her head back so she could see him.

"He…Loki…He said I only have half an hour," Peggy said, breathless. "So I thought…I thought I might teach you to dance after all."

All he could do was nod. She smiled again—if the smile had ever left her face—and stepped back, taking both his hands in hers.

"All right," she said, and took a deep preparatory breath. "First, you must learn the basic step. You start with your left foot, I start with my right. Put…Yes, put your weight on your left foot, then your right foot, then step back with your left foot and rock. Yes, yes, like that!" she cried as Steve managed to hobble through the steps, mirroring her.

"So it's just step, step, _rock-step_, step, step, _rock-step_…Good, good!" she commended him. He grinned like an idiot.

"Is that it?" he asked.

"Most of it," she answered.

"That's not so hard."

"Of course it's not—you're a superior athlete," she winked at him. He blushed crimson and gulped.

"All right, now we can practice a twirl," Peggy said. "Let go of me with one hand, and I'll back up and twirl under your arm and out…Yes, that's it…Then I twirl back under and back to you."

Steve's head spun as she twirled out and then back in, like an expert.

"I didn't do much there, did I?" he remarked.

"The lady does all the work," Peggy said coyly. "It's your job to make her look good."

"That's easy," Steve said. She ducked her head away to hide her own blush, then lifted her chin and grabbed his hands firmly.

"All right, back to business," she scolded.

"Yes, ma'am."

Peggy kept teaching, instructing him as swiftly and clearly as a drill sergeant—though she broke any tension with a laugh, a wink, or a glowing compliment. Steve got good enough at the _step, step, rock-step, step_ part that he was able to concentrate on the twirls and spins—and he never stepped on her feet.

They went faster, the room blurring around them, the light seeming to get brighter. And after a while, sounds began to swell into Steve's awareness…like a distant band…a piano…and a singer…

And all at once, a trumpet blared, a steady beat pulsed, followed by the rest of a classy big-band—and the voices of the Andrews Sisters crisply singing: _"There'll be a hot time in the town of Berlin, when the Brooklyn boys begin to take the joint apart, and tear it down, when they take old Berlin!"_

The music flooded the room, whirling around them, immersing them. Then Bing Crosby's rich bass tones took over for the sisters, and Steve and Peggy danced in time with the fun, triumphant song, laughing when they made mistakes and trying more and more spins until they were dizzy and giddy.

"_It'll be a hot time in the town of Berlin_

_ When the Yanks go marching in,_

_ I wanna be there, boy, _

_ To spread some joy_

_ When they take Berlin!_

_ There'll be a hot time in _

_ The town of Berlin_

_ When the Brooklyn boys begin_

_ To take the joint apart, and tear it down_

_ When they take Berlin!"_

They danced until they couldn't see straight—until they were panting and giggling like teenagers. Finally, the song ended. They stumbled, and fought to right themselves, gasping for breath. A few clicking sounds cut the silence, like static…

And then, a song came on again—but this time it clicked and hissed like a record on a phonograph. Steve recognized it right away: it was Tommy Dorsey's orchestra, playing "_I'll Never Smile Again"—_a sad, romantic, slow song. His breathing hitched, and suddenly, nothing was funny anymore.

Peggy stepped in closer to him, put her hand on his shoulder, and clasped his left hand with her right, and led him into a gentle swaying motion back and forth. Steve swallowed hard, then slid his hand around her waist, and followed her lead.

"_I'll never smile again,_

_Until I smile at you._

_I'll never laugh again_

_What good would it do?_

_For tears would fill my eyes_

_My heart would realize_

_That our romance is through…"_

"You're a fairly good dancer," Peggy commented, gazing up at him. He smiled quietly.

"Gee, thanks," he murmured. "I had a pretty good teacher."

She answered the smile, then stepped even closer and laid her head on his chest.

Steve's head came up and he took a shaking breath as delicious pain shot through his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut, and wrapped his arm tighter around her. She nuzzled her face against him, and let out a soft sigh. He lowered his head, and rested his chin on the top of her brown hair.

"_I'll never love again_

_I'm so in love with you_

_I'll never thrill again_

_To somebody new_

_Within my heart_

_I know I will never start_

_To smile again_

_Until I smile at you."_

"Earlier," Peggy whispered. "Loki asked if I knew the story of Cinderella. I didn't understand what he meant. But I think I do now." She let go of his hand and shoulder, and slid her arms around his waist. Steve encircled her with his arms, pulling her tight. He could feel her quivering.

"Steve," she gasped.

"I'm right here," he said, rubbing his hand up and down her back. She pulled back, just a bit, and looked up at him. Tears filled her bright eyes and ran down her cheeks.

"Steve, I just have a few more minutes. I can feel it," she said, her lip trembling as she pulled her arms back toward herself and grasped the front of his shirt. She swallowed hard. "I'd like you to…I'd like you to go before I…Before all this disappears."

"Peggy—" Steve tried, his heart speeding up.

"No, I…I'm going to spend the night in Miss Potts' quarters and be gone in the morning, before anyone wakes up," she insisted, looking away, her voice shaking. "I want you to remember me like _this_, not—"

"Peggy," he snapped. That brought her head up, her gaze to his. He squeezed her shoulders and leaned toward her.

"You don't get it, do you?" he gritted. She blinked. More tears fell.

"Get what?"

Steve leaned in and crushed her mouth with his. His pulse raged—she slid her arms up around his neck. Their lips moved against each other as they breathed in concert, holding each other so tight Steve could feel her heart hammering against his chest. The kiss never broke—it only deepened and changed as he lifted her up off the ground and memorized the very taste and smell and feel of her.

Then, slowly, he set her back down on her feet. Their lips lingered for one last moment, then parted. He released her, and took up both her hands and pressed them to his chest. He gazed down at the young, pretty woman he knew—the one who had haunted every moment of his dreams while he slept beneath the ice…

He blinked.

And a very old woman stood there, gazing up at him, her hands pressed against the beat of his heart.

"I love you," Steve finished. "I've always loved you. And nothing will ever change that."

Peggy gazed tearfully at him for a moment, then bowed her white head. Steve felt certain that something was broken or bleeding inside his chest. But then…

Then, a strange calm settled over him. Warmth, and certainty. And he found himself smiling.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" he asked, his voice very low.

Peggy drew herself up, and cleared her throat. She swiped at her eyes with an arthritic hand.

"I…Well…my father taught me," she said. "He and my mum went dancing all the time."

"Well, I bet you're exhausted after teaching a dumbbell like me," Steve said, slowly ushering her toward the door.

"You're not a dumbbell," she murmured, almost laughing as she wiped her eyes again. Together, the two of them gradually made their way out of the gym, down the dark hall, through the main room, and toward the women's wing. Steve drew to a halt just outside Miss Potts' door, and was just lifting his hand to knock on it—

Something behind them moved.

Steve spun around, still supporting Peggy—

The wall rippled.

Then, a shadow pushed aside like a curtain…

And the tall, lean form of Loki Odinson stood there, just an arm's length away. His flickering green gaze landed on Peggy—and to Steve's surprise, the two of them exchanged a smile.

"It's nice to see you again," Peggy greeted him.

"I'm glad to hear it," Loki replied. Peggy stepped toward him, and Loki calmly watched her. She raised her eyebrows at him in a clandestine expression.

"No matter what anybody says…" She reached up and gently patted his face. "I think you're a sweetheart."

Loki leaned down toward her, and whispered:

"Don't give away my secret." Then, he withdrew, and gave her a pointed look. She winked at him.

"It's safe with me."

The door opened. Steve spun back around to see Pepper, dressed in her nightclothes, frowning out at them. But as soon as she saw Peggy, her frown transformed into a smile.

"Hello, Peggy!" she murmured warmly. "Like I told you earlier, there are two beds in here, and yours is all turned down and ready for you."

"Thank you, Miss Potts," Peggy answered. Then, she turned, looked up at Steve one more time, and rested her hand on his heart. Pepper reached out and took hold of Peggy's arm, and steadied her across the threshold.

"Goodnight!" Pepper whispered, and shut the door.

Steve turned. Loki still stood there, motionless. Watching him, as if waiting. Uncertain. Steve swallowed, then swallowed again.

"So, um…" he glanced at the floor. "You did all that?"

"Yes," Loki answered carefully. Steve lifted his head, and searched Loki's pale, unreadable face.

"Was it real?"

"As real as the three of us could make it." Loki answered. He paused. "I just wish I could have made it last longer."

"Wh…Why—" Steve started, trying to articulate everything that suddenly surged through him.

"I've never done that kind of spell before," Loki said, as if trying to reassure him. "It's very complicated, and takes a great deal of effort—"

"No," Steve interrupted. "I meant…Why did you do it?"

Loki gazed back at him for a long moment, caught off guard. Then, he set his jaw, drew himself up, and looked at Steve directly.

"Because," he said. "Not long ago, I was faced with the very real possibility of the woman I loved leaving me behind. Of returning to what she had known before, living a life drastically shorter than mine." Loki's eyes flickered. "I might never have seen her again. And if I had, I would have still appeared young, and she…" Loki shifted his weight, as if something unseen was hurting him. "She would have grown old," he murmured. "Without me."

Steve couldn't speak. The two of them merely stood there for a long while in silence and darkness, their shoulders heavy.

Finally, Steve stepped forward, and held out his hand.

Loki hesitated. Then, he stepped forward also—

And grasped Steve's bent elbow. Reflexively, Steve gripped Loki's upper arm as well, forming a more ancient-feeling, stronger handshake than Steve knew existed. Loki squeezed Steve's arm, and gave it a firm shake—Steve did the same. Then, Loki inclined his head.

"Goodnight, Captain." He withdrew, and started soundlessly down the hall.

"Thank you," Steve called quietly. Loki's footsteps stalled. He stopped. He did not turn, but his head tilted toward Steve.

"You're welcome," he murmured, as if surprised. Then, he rounded the corner, and disappeared.

Steve ducked his head and stuck his hands in his pockets. After standing there alone for a minute, he strolled out of the women's wing toward his own, softly singing to himself.

"_There'll be a hot time _

_ In the town of Berlin_

_ When the Brooklyn boys begin_

_ To take the joint apart, and tear it down_

_ When they take Berlin!"_

_To be continued…_

_Review, dear ones! You know you want to!_


	11. Chapter 11

_In lieu of answering your reviews from last chapter (which I LOVE to do, you know!) I thought I'd post early, if that's okay with you! And I'll be SURE to answer the reviews that follow this chapter. Promise!_

_So…this portion is a bit like driving up a winding hill in a manual high-horsepower convertible—constant shifting of gears and building acceleration. So hold on tight!_

_VVVVV_

Chap 11

"If love was a choice, who would choose such exquisite pain?"

-Anna and the King

Loki sat alone on a black couch, his left arm draped over the back, in an otherwise empty, gray room. He had his back to the door. His eyes fixed on the blank wall in front of him—and the narrow window up near the ceiling, through which he could glimpse the faint glow of a streetlamp.

His face and hands felt cold, his chest heavy. He had not been sitting here long, but during those few minutes, the false light had seemed to dim, the air to thicken, and that shroud of shadow settled over him, seeped into him…

He had tried to ignore it all evening—tried to push it out of his mind so he could see straight. Hoping that this feeling of an onrushing, black tide was an illusion. But it did no good.

It was coming. As relentless and invincible as the fall of night.

Footsteps sounded from behind. Slow, purposeful footsteps. Loki lowered his eyes down to his right hand on the armrest. The footsteps paused in the doorway. He knew who it was without having to turn. He closed his eyes.

_Not now…_

He set his jaw. This was not the ideal place, and it was _not _the ideal moment. But he had run out of time.

He would have to be quick.

He took a quiet breath, opened his eyes—and settled slowly back into the cushion like a reclining panther.

"I've been waiting for you," he purred. Only silence answered him for a moment.

"Hm," came the smooth, feminine voice. "You make it sound like you were expecting me to try and find you."

Loki smiled—let her feel his pleased expression ripple through the room.

"I knew you would," he said, staying perfectly still. "After you realized that the others couldn't hold your attention."

"And you think _you _can?" she prodded. Loki sneered.

"Oh, my dear…" he murmured. "I _command _it."

Another space of electrified silence passed.

"You seem certain," she finally said, easing through the room toward him. He kept his eyes on his hand and did not answer.

She rounded the couch, cautiously, and sank down at the far end. A brief glance out of the corner of his eye caught her black-garbed form, her red hair—he lifted his chin and turned his face away, as if nothing in that direction interested him at all. He felt her shift in response, lean ever so slightly toward him.

"I've been warned about you," Natasha Romanov said, her voice like steel. Loki let a small, amused expression cross his mouth.

"With good reason, no doubt." He turned his head toward her, did not look at her, and briefly glanced at the cushion right next to him—then lifted his eyes to the wall. He waited.

It took a few moments, but finally she yielded. She slid toward him, and sat just where he had been looking, her body turned toward his.

"Brave of you, Lady Romanov," he commented wryly, his gaze distant. "And probably unwise."

She lifted her hand. Slowly, she reached toward his head—then ran her fingers through his hair with a firm, smooth touch. Then, her hand strayed down, slid beneath his collar to the bare skin of his chest, and stayed there. She leaned in so her lips touched his ear.

"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered.

Loki moved.

He grabbed her right hand with his left, then lunged toward her, shocking her back against the far armrest. Their bodies collided.

They locked there, frozen. Her bright eyes flashed—their noses were an inch apart.

"You should be," Loki hissed.

Natasha grinned.

She pulled her hand loose and wrapped it tight around his neck. He did the same thing to her, entangling his fingers in her hair, pressing his fingertips hard to the back of her head.

Loki gathered himself, taking a deep breath—and let power flood through his arms. Natasha leaned toward him, her lips searching for his.

A choking sound came from the door.

Loki jerked his head up.

Jane stood there in a red blouse and black pants—she even had some makeup on, highlighting the beauty and softness of her face. Her vivid brown eyes were fixed on the two of them, her forehead twisted. Her white-knuckled right hand clutched the Lokistone necklace that hung over her heart.

Her expression broke. She gasped wordlessly, strangling, and took a step back.

Loki filled with terror.

"Jane—"

She scrambled backward, turned and raced blindly back up the hall.

Loki wrenched himself from Natasha's arms, vaulted over the back of the couch, and hit the ground running.

AAAAA

Steve strode down the hall toward the war room, gritting his teeth. He had barely gotten into his room and taken his jacket off before an alarm had sounded and he'd been summoned. And all at once, every bit of warmth that had found its way back into his body vanished.

He swung around the corner into the main room and slowed when he saw two geared-up SHIELD agents standing by the computer consoles across the room.

"Captain," one of them called. "The colonel would like to speak with you."

Steve maneuvered around the board, hopped up the steps and stood between the two agents. The one who had called him reached down with a gloved hand and pushed a red button on the console. A screen up above flickered. Steve lifted his head—to see Nick Fury gazing back at him.

"Captain," Fury nodded.

"Uh…sir?" Steve managed, disconcerted. He would never get used to these newfangled communication devices…

"Xavier, Magneto, Coulson and I have been working nonstop ever since we left the SHIELD compound," Fury said, glancing around the white room behind him—clearly a lab. "Xavier accessed Cerebro, narrowing his search using the new clues we gathered, and Magneto's intuition about Schmidt. And it seems like the Odinsons were right. The doctors _are_ mobilizing." He took a breath, and looked soberly at Steve. "And we found them."

Steve went still.

"You did?"

"Yes," Fury said. "You need to marshal the team—get them on the SHIELD Underground within half an hour, and I'll send you the coordinates."

"Wait—you want _me _to mobilize—" Steve pointed at his chest.

"Yes, I do," Fury told him. "Earlier today, when you came in with Peggy, the rest of us were in a meeting discussing leadership qualities and teamwork," Fury arched an eyebrow. "That went…less than well. So I'm making an executive decision." Fury lifted his chin. "You're team leader, Captain. Get them ready and into the Underground in half an hour."

"Yes, sir," Steve answered.

"I'll explain the situation more fully when you're assembled—all the equipment you need should be in the Underground," Fury told him. "Over and out."

The screen went black. Steve stood still for a moment, then drew himself up.

"All right, then," he murmured. "Let's roll."

AAAAA

Pepper threw a long, soft housecoat around herself and tied the sash as she hurried down the hallway toward Tony's workshop. She had left Peggy sound asleep in her room—she hoped she hadn't made enough noise to wake her up. Pepper could hear the SHIELD guards running through distant hallways, shouting orders back and forth that echoed against the steel walls. She brushed a strand of her loose hair out of her face and pushed through the doors, starting her question before she had even focused on him.

"Tony, what's going on?"

He stood near his suit pedestal, trying to button up the back of his jumpsuit collar.

"Hi, Pepper," he sighed, wincing.

"Sif said Steve is getting everyone together—did something happen?" she asked, moving around the work tables and up to him. He glanced at her. He hadn't taken the time to comb his hair—a few strands fell across his forehead, giving him that boyish look that made her heart…

"Yeah, something happened," he grunted, still struggling with the fastening. "Fury gave Steve a ring and said—"

"Here, let me do that," Pepper said, coming around behind him and closing the fastenings her own fingers.

"Thanks," Tony huffed, dropping his arms down to his sides. "Fury gave Steve a ring and said they figured out where Doom and Schmidt are, and we're supposed to get ready and get down to the SHIELD Underground in less than half an hour—"

"The SHIELD Underground? What's that?" Pepper asked, closing the last clasp and coming around to his side, watching his face.

"It's a subway system," he answered, buttoning up his cuffs. "SHIELD commandeered a few old lines and now the SU carries some high-tech train through tunnels that branch all over the city. Kinda cool—I've only seen it once, and I didn't get to ride in it."

"Where are you going?" Pepper asked, squeezing her hands together.

"Don't know," Tony answered, turning to frown at his armor. He picked up a buffing rag and started rubbing a scorch mark on the arm. "Steve says Fury will tell us en route." He rolled his eyes. "I personally think Steve knows already, but he's not keeping it to himself. Thinks he's something special now that Fury appointed him 'team leader.'"

"Steve will make a good leader," Pepper protested, stepping toward him. "He's quiet, he listens, he's brave, he's had experience—"

"Not to mention you've got a crush on him, huh?" Tony said quietly.

Pepper stopped. Tony had gone still. He gazed back at her, utterly serious, his dark eyes unreadable.

"What?" she gasped, a hole opening up in her chest. "What are you _talking _about—?"

"Hey, you _know_ what I'm talking about," he snapped, pointing at her with the hand that held the rag. "You've been mooning over him since the second you saw him, and don't pretend—"

"I have not been _mooning _over him!" Pepper cried.

"Yes, you _have_," he insisted, facing her. "I've _seen _you—"

"_You've_ seen _me?" _Pepper shouted. "What about you and _Tasha_, huh? You've been wrapped around her little finger since—"

"Oh, come on, don't start acting jealous _now_—" Tony threw the rag down on the table.

"Jealous? _Jealous? _Oh, of course not—why should I be jealous?" Pepper threw her hands up in the air. "Besides the fact that I've hardly seen you at all these past few days, and even when I do see you, you're so busy flirting with Romanov that you don't even realize I'm _there_—"

"The thing with Natasha's no big deal," Tony scoffed, grabbing a pair of laceless shoes out from underneath one of the tables and setting them on a chair.

"Maybe not to _you_," Pepper countered. "But it is to me!"

"Why?" Tony demanded, raising up again and holding his hands out to the sides. "You know me, Pepper—you know how I roll. You even said yourself that you knew how I was with girls and that was perfectly fine. That's what you said."

"Yeah, well, that was _before…_I mean…" Pepper's thoughts snagged as her face heated up. Looking so directly at him, she suddenly felt completely vulnerable. "I thought you weren't doing that anymore. I thought you and I were—"

"I don't know why you can't just accept me the way I am, Pepper," he said, grabbing one of the shoes and ramming it on. "Instead of nagging me all the time and trying to change me."

"_Nagging you?" _Pepper repeated. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

He glanced up at her.

"That's what it sounds like."

"I'm not _nagging _you," she insisted, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'm trying to tell you—"

"What? You're not getting enough attention?" he said, standing up and facing her. "I'm sure Steve'll be willing to spend a whole bunch of time with you after he's done saving the world and all that jazz."

"_Steve?_" Pepper cried. "What is it with _Steve? _I hardly _know _him! I just met him a couple days ago!"

"You said 'wow_' _when you first saw him," Tony pointed out.

"So what?" Pepper shot back. "I could fill a _book_ of every ridiculous thing that came out of _your _mouth every time you saw a good-looking girl—"

"That's not the point," Tony cut in, taking a step toward her, pointing firmly at the ground. "Everybody in this joint keeps telling me what an awesome guy Steve is—how he's a world-famous war hero, he's a legend, has squeaky-clean character, he can walk on water, yadda-yadda-yadda." Tony lowered his head and looked at her straight—and his voice got quiet. "That's what you think too, isn't it?" His eyes flitted over her features. "You think he's a…He's a better man than I am."

They stood frozen, Pepper staring back at him as his expression opened, flickered—and he held his breath. She swallowed hard, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"Tony…" she rasped. Her hand fluttered toward him.

"Mr. Stark."

Pepper jerked, clenched her hand and pulled it back toward herself. She blinked and turned to the door…

To see Romanov standing there, her expression cold.

"Yeah?" Tony asked—his voice came out unsteady.

"I have to fit you with a tracking device," she told him, ignoring Pepper. Tony cleared his throat.

"Well, I uh…You shouldn't have any trouble tracking my suit. I'll give you the frequency—"

"No, this one goes on your skin," Romanov said. "Right over your heart."

"Um…okay," Tony said, and reached up and unfastened his collar.

Pepper's tears boiled over and scalded her cheeks. She spun around, swiping at her face, and swept out of the room and back toward her room. And if he called after her at all, she didn't hear it.

AAAAA

Sif paused outside Thor's door, trying to calm her racing heart. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, reached up and knocked.

"Who is it?" She felt his deep voice in her bones.

"Sif," she answered.

"Come in," he bid. She took another deep breath, twisted the knob, and stepped over the threshold.

Thor stood there in just his brown trousers and boots, his leather bag on his bed, various articles of clothing lying strewn across the quilt. Mjollnir sat in a corner chair—she could feel its energy quietly pulsing. She glanced up at Thor's broad, muscled back, and clasped her hands in front of her.

"Steven says it is time to leave," she said.

"Yes," Thor nodded, picking up a shirt and folding it, then placing it in the satchel. "He says Fury has found Doom and Schmidt—and that we're to raid them in less than half an hour's time."

"I'm ready," Sif told him.

He glanced at her over his shoulder—his blue eyes met hers for an instant.

"Sif," he said—

And her heart instantly plummeted.

"What?" she managed.

"I wish for you to stay behind," he said, picking up another shirt and folding it.

"What? Why?" Sif demanded, heat rushing through her body as her hands clenched. "I told you I am coming with you—you cannot go and leave me behind—"

"Sif, you must," Thor said, half turning toward her, leveling a severe look at her. "Think for a moment. None of the other women are truly prepared to fight should something go wrong during our mission."

Sif blinked.

"You think it will?"

He sighed.

"If there is one thing I've learned from Loki," he said. "It is not to be too confident." He lowered his head, and gave her an open look, his voice softening. "All of us—Logan, Stark, Loki, the Captain and I—will be far from here, leaving only Romanov and the SHIELD agents to protect Marie, Miss Potts and poor Jane, if you come with us." He glanced at the floor. "I'll not command you. But I would feel more at ease knowing that a real warrior remained here. A warrior I can count upon."

Sif couldn't answer—she just stared at him. Thor turned back toward the bed and picked up another tunic.

She felt hollowed out. After all they had been through—even after that brief, sudden kiss at Loki and Jane's wedding, and the following weeks during which he had given her enough affection for her to dare to hope…

Even after the centuries of trusting each other, of depending upon each other…

Still, to him—she was only a warrior he could count upon.

A tear fell down her cheek. She barely felt it—and, surprisingly, no shame pressed on her chest. She was numb.

She stepped toward him as he kept working, watching the familiar movements of Thor's hands and arms, the muscles in his back, the tilt of his head…

She stopped right behind him. Her gaze lingered on a scar that marked the smooth skin just to the left side of his right shoulder blade. It was exactly the length and width of her index finger—she knew that scar better than she knew her own hand. She could see the stitch marks, how the tender skin had been punctured and pulled in an effort to staunch the flow of dark red blood…

How quiet and soft and harmless that scar looked now, on his flawless shoulder. What pain it hid—what terror it buried. Though not _his _terror, of course…

Sif stepped into him, and slid her arms around his middle.

Thor went completely still.

She tightened her hold, spreading her fingers out against the sides of his warm, firm chest, feeling it rise and fall as he took a careful breath…

She leaned her forehead against his backbone, letting the beat of his great heart reverberate all through her. She swallowed hard.

"Thor," she whispered. "I will do whatever you ask." Then, she lifted her head, and closed her eyes. She strained up onto her toes, and—with no need to look where to find it—she pressed her lips to his scar and kissed it.

Thor sucked in a breath as if he'd been pierced. For just an instant, his hand brushed the back of hers.

Sif felt as if her lips had been burned—she pulled back, slipping her arms loose of him, tears tumbling. Shame consumed her now, and she turned away from him, covering her mouth with her hand. She pulled the door open with too much force, and plunged out into the hallway. Then, before he could say anything—before he even had the chance to _think_ anything—she broke into a run and left him far behind.

AAAAA

"Listen, you'll be fine," Logan assured her, pulling on his jacket and running a hand through his hair. Marie raised her eyebrows and glance down at her folded, gloved hands in her lap.

"I wasn't exactly worried about _me_…"

He laughed.

"What—you're worried about _me_?" He sat down heavily on the end of the bed next to her, reached out and gently flicked a strand of her white hair away from her face. He gave her a crooked grin. "You know me. I've been around the block a few times—gotten shot up, cut up, beat up, and I look—well, a little worse for wear but hey. Still all in one piece."

She gazed back at him, unsmiling.

"That doesn't make it any easier for me to watch, you know," she said.

The smile faded from his face. He reached up and put a hand to the side of her head, careful to only touch her hair.

"You know I always come back," he murmured. She held out her hand. He glanced down at it, then looked up at her and raised his eyebrows. She waited. He smiled again, reached up around his neck and pulled off his dog tags. They jingled as he lifted them over his head—she watched them glint in the light. He pressed them down into her palm, then wrapped both his hands around hers and squeezed.

"I'll come to get these back in no time flat."

"Each bullet hole through your jacket means an extra day I get to keep them," she warned. He straightened.

"What? Since when are those the rules?"

"Since now."

"How long have we been doing this—"

"Forever."

"Then you can't change the rules," he protested. "Not if we've been doing it one way forever already—you can't change the rules."

"Why not?" she asked saucily. "What are you going to do about it?"

He laughed unexpectedly—such a rare sound from him that she beamed back.

"I dunno," he confessed, shaking his head. "But you're all I've got, so I'd better not make you mad, right?"

They paused a moment, and she studied his rugged face—a face she'd memorized so long ago, she couldn't remember what it was like before she knew him. Carefully, she took a breath.

"Logan?"

"Yeah?" he murmured. She shifted, laying her other hand on top of his, so that their hands intertwined.

"Can I ask you a funny question?"

"Shoot."

She gazed down at their hands—at hers, in gloves.

"If you could pick somebody—anybody—to live as long as you—no matter how old you got," she asked. "Would you? Or…would you rather be by yourself?"

She looked up at him.

His expression had totally changed—to one of startled gravity.

"I…" he started, then hesitated, obviously choosing his words carefully.

A knock came at the door. He frowned at it.

"Yeah?"

"It's Romanov. Can I come in?"

Marie's stomach instantly turned—she pulled her hands out of Logan's.

"Sure," Logan said, his frown deepening.

The door swung open, and Natasha strode in. She smiled down at Marie.

"Hello, Rogue."

Marie forced a very brief smile, but she glared with her eyes. Natasha stopped and addressed Logan, letting out a short breath.

"Mr. Logan, I need to apply your tracking device before you head out on the mission."

"Tracking device?" Logan stood up. "What for?"

"Colonel's orders," she answered.

"That doesn't explain anything," Logan shot back.

"I'm staying behind to monitor all of you," Natasha said. "Regardless of your equipment, shields, suits, et cetera, I have to keep an eye on your location and your physiology."

Logan grunted.

"I guess that makes sense." He stood up. "Okay, where do I put it?"

"You can't apply it," Natasha shook her head and held up a little device. "But I'll be quick."

"Okay, fine. Where?"

"Please remove your jacket and shirt," Natasha said. Marie's eyes went wide. Logan halfway rolled his eyes, then pulled off his jacket, threw it down on the bed, then peeled off his shirt, revealing his hard, muscled upper body. Coolly, Natasha stepped toward him and pressed her palm to his chest.

"The placement needs to be exact, or the tracker won't pick up your heartbeat," she murmured, running her fingers across his collarbone, then down across his breastbone. Logan's jaw tightened and he shivered against her touch. Marie felt herself go white.

She got up, clenching the dog tags in her fist, and slipped out the door, pressing her gloved hand to her eyes for just a moment before fighting to clear her vision—she needed to see if she was going to find Sif's room.

AAAAA

Jane flung open the door of her room, gasping for breath but unable to catch it. Her heart kept skipping beats—icy chills raced over her skin and her vision swam. She staggered in, one hand clenching her necklace, until her knees thudded against the side of the bed. Her stomach rolled. Any moment now she would get sick, or faint—or scream.

A looming presence entered right behind her, throwing his shadow across her. She choked and tried to escape, but she swayed, and put her hand out on the bed to steady herself.

"Jane," Loki's jagged voice came from behind her—his tones hitting the back of her head and traveling painfully all the way down her spine. His dark form swept around her, stood a pace in front of her, and held both hands out placatingly. She wouldn't—_couldn't—_look at him.

"Jane, I can explain what happened," he said. "This isn't how it appears."

"Oh? And how does it appear?" she demanded, her voice shaking so much she could barely get the words out.

"I _know _what it looked like," Loki said. "But it wasn't—"

"It was!" Jane insisted, scrambling back away from him. "You were practically on top of—" She clenched her fists and took a jarring breath, staring down at the quilt. "How long has this been going on? Have you been sneaking around behind my back ever since we got here? Or have you just been thinking about it and just _now_ got the chance to—"

"Behind your—_Me?" _Loki cried. "Do you realize what you're accusing me of—_me—_when all you've done since we came here is _lied_ to me?"

Jane's head came up. Loki gazed right back at her—white-faced, his wolfish hair mussed—and his look was like emerald lightning.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"You know what I'm talking about," he snapped, pointing at her. "You began wearing clothes from Midgard as soon as you got the chance—"

"They're _comfortable_," Jane protested. "And what does that have to do with—"

"You've made no secret of the fact that you much prefer everything here to everything in Asgard," he said. "That no matter what treasures and luxuries I could give you as a prince and a husband, it is not going to measure up to anything from your home."

"That's _not _true—"

"It _is _true, Jane!" he stopped her, eyes flashing. "I saw you when we landed in Puente Antiguo—I've never seen you happier to arrive anywhere."

Jane gestured helplessly.

"And how is that _lying?"_

He leveled an accusing look at her.

"When you told Erik Selvig the story of what happened to us, you left out your wound."

Jane's mouth fell open.

"I…I don't…"

"Twice—once when you told him, and again when you told Darcy," Loki reminded her.

"It's not exactly my favorite part of the story!" Jane answered. Loki pointed to his chest.

"And you think it is_ mine_?"

"Then what's the matter?" Jane demanded. "Why do you care if I left it out?"

"Because, Jane," he took three steps toward her. "Before we left for the mountains, I swore to Erik Selvig that I would protect you. That I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. And I did. It nearly ripped me sideways and crossways, but I did it." He moved his hand emphatically, and lowered his voice to a hard knife edge. "And I wanted the most important man in your life—the one who you see as a father—to know that I did it. To know that, even after I'd sent the Destroyer to Midgard, and ruined so much, that I…That I could still deserve you."

Jane gritted her teeth, hardening herself against the soft pleading in his eyes.

"You're right—I did leave that part out," she admitted. "But I guess you just _decided _to think the worst of me instead of considering the _possibility _that I _might _be thinking of someone else's feelings besides _yours!"_

Loki blinked.

"What?"

Jane took a shaking breath.

"Erik had a daughter," she said shortly. "And when she was twenty years old, she got robbed and shot in a side street in Chicago and died."

Loki said nothing—just stared at her. Jane let out a breath, her body quaking. She gestured weakly with one hand and shrugged.

"_That's _why I didn't say anything either time, Loki. Erik and his wife got divorced because of what happened. He's never gotten over it."

Loki's brow creased in a pained, confused expression.

"Divorced?" he repeated. "I'm…not familiar with that word."

"They were married, and then they decided not to be," Jane explained.

Loki lost what remaining color he had.

"How is that possible?"

Jane shrugged again, swallowing the ache in her throat as she wondered how they had strayed so far from what _really _mattered…

"They dissolved their marriage," she said dismissively. "Signed legal documents, split up their property, stopped living together—"

"Why?" Loki pressed, his gaze sharpening.

"Because it _destroyed_ them," Jane finally burst out. "They lost their _child_! They couldn't handle it—they fought over whose fault it was that she had gotten into that situation when they should have been protecting her—they just couldn't take it. It was too much."

"My parents lost a child," Loki murmured. "And they didn't—"

"Yeah, well—I guess your parents are perfect," Jane shot back, folding her arms hard. Loki twitched back, as if he'd been stung. Jane instantly regretted saying that—until she remembered what she had felt just minutes ago, when the Lokistone had burned hot against her skin. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"I still can't…_believe_ you are trying to turn this around on me." She opened her eyes, blinked through tears to find him again. "You were _kissing _another woman, but you throw it back in my face that I've been lying to you when _nothing _you have said has proved—"

"I was not kissing her, Jane," Loki said huskily, advancing on her. "How could I possibly—" He stopped just a foot away, towering over her, running his gaze over her face. "None of that meant anything—none of it. And you know it. What _does _mean something is that you _have_ been lying to me. I've felt it every day—every _moment _since we arrived."

His eyes burned into her. Her throat locked shut and she couldn't turn away.

"Jane…" he breathed, almost begging. His hands came up and cradled her face in a feather-light hold.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head.

His hands weakened. They slid down her neck, across her shoulders and down her arms, then encircled her waist and tightened. Jane sucked in her breath. He leaned in and traced her cheekbone with his lips, breathing brokenly against her skin, his touch wandering down toward her throat, sending shivers all through her. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, fighting tears. His lips pressed against the thudding heartbeat in her throat.

"I have lain next to you, Jane," he whispered against her, then laid his soft cheek against hers. "And I've held you as close to me as I could…" and then his voice shattered. "But you're not _here_," he snarled, and let her go. She opened her eyes. Loki drew back and twitched away.

"You've…You've done something," he muttered. "You've crippled my magic or you've…you've shielded yourself with something but I…I'm completely blind." He met her eyes, shaken and wounded, his hair hanging in his face. "And I don't understand."

And then it dawned on her. In a heated flash of inspiration, she saw. Somehow, despite all her efforts, he had sensed it. He had sensed the truth. Sensed it, and twisted it, until it snarled inside him like a tangle of barbed wire.

And suddenly, Jane knew she had to tell him. Regardless of what had just happened, regardless of what still might—he needed to know.

"Okay," she whispered, more tears blurring her vision and falling. She nodded hard, dropped her arms, and released a long, aching breath. "Okay, I'll…I do have something to tell you. I should have told you before we left Asgard, but I wanted to…" She blinked, and cleared her eyes. And stopped.

Loki's expression had transformed. His eyes were wide, startled—as if a complete stranger had just entered the room. Except he was looking at _her_.

His stunned gaze flickered up and down the length of her body, then lingered on her midsection—and finally returned to her eyes.

Jane's lips parted, but she couldn't speak.

And then a thousand emotions crossed Loki's face in an instant, too numerous and potent for her to absorb. He drew in a breath that sounded like it hurt—then, he took a step closer to her. Then another. Finally, he stood right in front of her, his attention fixed on her middle. He stretched out his left hand. Jane held her breath.

Loki's hand hovered over her belly for a long, suspended moment. Then, ever so lightly, he touched her with his fingertips.

An electric thrill shot through her body.

Loki closed his eyes.

And a single tear spilled down his face.

"Odinson," said a voice.

Jane jerked violently—Loki grabbed her and crushed her to him in a savage hold, shocking the breath out of her. Jane twisted her head—

To see Natasha Romanov leaning through the doorway.

Jane's blood boiled.

"You set one foot in this room and I will _kill _you—" Jane roared, taking fistfuls of Loki's shirt.

"I'm not coming in," Natasha spat back. "I'm just supposed to tell the younger Odinson that every other member of the team is waiting for him," she glared at him. "And that he's holding up the train."

Natasha disappeared. The door squeaked in the silence. Loki let go of Jane with a shuddering sigh. She wrapped her left arm around herself and twisted the chain of her Lokistone around the fingers of her right hand so tight it cut into her skin.

Loki hung his head and swallowed. Jane couldn't breathe—her heart hammered against her ribs. She stared at him, silently praying for him to say something…

He didn't look at her. He just glanced helplessly around at the room. Then, he reached out with a pale hand and took hold of the door.

He paused. Jane's heart jolted.

Then, he pulled it open and swept silently out into the hall.

Jane crashed to her knees. She fell down on her face, pressing her forehead to the carpet, her throat spasming. She couldn't draw a proper breath for ten minutes—but when she finally did, she let loose a wrenching, tearing wail that echoed through the corridors of the entire SHIELD compound.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	12. Chapter 12

_I'm so thrilled so many people are reading and enjoying! I truly hope you continue to be entertained! Thank you!_

_VVVVV_

Chap 12

"_The way a team plays as a whole determines its success._

_You may have the greatest bunch of individual stars in the world,_

_But if they don't play together,_

_The club won't be worth a dime."_

_-Babe Ruth_

Thor, his helmet under his arm, ducked through the low door of the long, hollow, metal snake and paused on the threshold, glancing around. His cape swished as he walked. The interior of this vehicle, something that these Midgardians called a "subway car," was muted gray, with white bench seats bolted to the sides, and neatly-packed racks of various pieces of armament—vests, guns, grenades—hanging from the walls. It smelled of plastic, and oil. Harsh artificial lamps lit the small, narrow chamber. Thor hefted Mjollnir, and slid it into his belt. He glanced to his left, to the front of the car, to see Steve, Tony and Logan waiting. Steve sat on a bench, his elbows on his knees, a curved, circular shield strapped to his back. Tony, wearing a black jumpsuit, plopped down in a rotating chair that moment and leaned back, his "suit case" tucked between his feet. Logan stood apart from both of them, his arms crossed. He looked the same as usual, except his signature smoking device was absent. They all lifted their faces to Thor as he entered.

"Where's that baby brother of yours?" Logan asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Washing his hair or something?"

Irritation rose in Thor's chest.

"If you're referring to Prince Loki," Thor growled. "He is on his way."

"Oh, good," Logan muttered. "Can't wait for _his_ sunny contribution to all this."

"Listen, the guy's a realist, okay? He gives his honest assessment," Tony said, holding his hands out. "And _you're _not exactly Mr. Happy either, Claws."

"Great, a nickname," Logan said, rolling his eyes. "Does that mean I get to call you Tin Man, now?"

"Guys…" Steve sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair. They fell quiet. Thor stepped nearer and eyed Steve. He wore a similar jumpsuit to Tony's, though Steve's was more padded, with a belt, high boots, and deep blue, red and white markings—and a white star on his chest.

"What is this heraldry?" Thor gestured to him.

"Hm?" Steve sat up, his blue eyes meeting Thor's for the first time.

"This star, these colors," Thor clarified. "What do they mean?"

"Uh…" Steve sat up, and glanced down at himself. "Well, they're the colors of the American flag. White for purity, red for valor, blue for justice," he said, pointing to the various colors on his uniform. "And on the flag…Well, there are thirteen red and white stripes, for the thirteen original colonies, and there are forty-eight stars on a field of blue, representing the forty-eight states—"

"You're just an encyclopedia, aren't you?" Tony remarked, looking around. "A regular know-it-all Eagle Scout."

Steve frowned at him.

"I was just answering a question—"

"Yeah, well, there aren't forty-eight states," Tony corrected folding his arms and raising his eyebrows at him.

Steve blinked.

"There aren't?"

"Fifty, genius," Tony said. "Might want to take a look at that flag you're wrapped in once in a while."

"Hey, lay off," Logan snapped at Tony.

"What—does the _Captain_ need protection?" Tony shot back. "He should know that—everybody knows that."

"He's been on ice for the past seventy years," Logan retorted.

"Yeah, exactly," Tony barked, facing Logan. "So he's leading this mission…_why?"_

"Look, Colonel Fury put me in charge," Steve told him. "I'm just following orders."

"In my experience, the best leaders know how to think for themselves," Tony answered flatly.

"And you know this from all the times you've been on the battlefield?" Logan wanted to know, standing away from the wall, eyes flashing at him.

"I've been shot at a few times, yeah," Tony replied, folding his arms. "By _tanks_."

"Great, that'll be real helpful in our _reconnaissance _mission," Logan leaned toward him.

"Reconniassance?" Thor repeated, frowning. "I thought we were penetrating their fortress and taking them captive."

"I'm actually in favor of blowing it all to the moon," Tony said, shrugging. "Anybody else thought of that?"

"We can't blow it to the moon—we don't even know what's in there," Steve said. "If what Xavier says is right, Schmidt and Doom have incredible power banks. If we caused an explosion it could destroy more than—"

"Xavier didn't know who the heck they _were _until just a couple days ago," Tony shot back.

"Which is more than _you _knew," Logan pointed out. "If it wasn't for him you'd still be on some yacht somewhere sucking down mojitos and making out with whatever Cosmo model you—"

Logan stopped and faced the door.

The newcomer made no sound when he came in, but Thor felt his dark presence right away. He turned.

Loki stood there in his usual black tunic, long-sleeved shirt, trousers and boots. Thor met his eyes—and paused.

Loki was _white_. Yes, his brother usually looked pale, but now he did not even have any color in his lips, and shadows circled his eyes. He stood as if slightly off balance, and his forefinger and thumb of his left hand rubbed uneasily against each other. And his eyes appeared gray—the emerald light had left them. Thor stepped toward him immediately, his chest constricting.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a low voice, dipping his head to better see his brother's face. In other circumstances, Loki might have smirked—or snapped at him that yes, he was perfectly all right. Now though, he just nodded, as if he had only barely heard him.

"Do you have your armor?" Thor questioned. Loki cleared his throat, took a deep breath and visibly gathered himself. Then, he dusted off his arms and chest…

And his armor appeared, gracefully flowing and jangling from his shoulders to his feet, the metal shimmering as it materialized, his green cape fluttering as it tumbled down.

"Where is your helmet?" Thor wondered. Loki swallowed, then turned away from the door, as if there was something there he did not want to look at.

"I left it in the room," he muttered. He lifted his fingers and waved it away. "I can do without."

Thor watched him carefully, unsure of how to probe further without shaming him in front of the Midgardians.

"That is so much cooler than your hunk of junk," Logan snorted at Tony.

"Okay, I _really _resent that," Tony snapped, standing up. "I'd like to see you even _try _to figure out how my suit functions and how it—"

A screen on the wall right next to them flickered to life, separating the two bristling men. They turned, and stepped back. Nick Fury's face filled the screen.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he greeted them, glancing around at each of them. "Looks like we're all here, so we'll be on our way."

The door rolled loudly and slammed shut. Steve jumped. A sharp hiss of air shot from the closed entrance as it sealed. Then, with a deep groan and a steady hum, the car began to move. Thor shifted his weight, bracing himself better. Loki swayed for a moment, then turned and sat down next to Steve. Steve glanced at him—then, judging by the look on Steve's face, decided that Loki looked about as companionable as a corpse.

"Right now," Fury began. "The SHIELD Underground is taking your team to a compound that's been built in an old subway station. This is where you should find Dr. Doom and Johann Schmidt, and whatever project they're working on. Here's what we've found out: there is a labyrinth of tunnels surrounding the central chamber—the power source that we've been able to locate with the help of Cerebro and Stark tech. Take a look at these schematics." The screen changed to a picture of what looked to Thor like a map—a black-and-white map of winding, twisting tunnels intersected by very straight ones, all forming a web-like maze.

"There are two rings of tunnels around the main chamber," Fury went on, and those tunnels on the map lit up red as he spoke. "Both only have one entrance, here." Each single entrance lit up blue. "We're counting on Stark to get you through the doors."

Thor glanced at Loki. Loki just shrugged, shook his head and looked away.

"Why can we not just break the door down?" Thor asked the screen, disconcerted that he could no longer see Fury's face.

"Making that kind of noise will only bring Doom's security down on you," Fury answered. "And considering the fact that Xavier says that they still seem to be surrounded by some unreadable, alien presence, that's a situation we'd like to avoid."

Thor ground his teeth and glanced away. These Midgardians meant well, but they still seemed to have no idea who he and Loki were.

"You will be dropped off half a city block from the entrance to this compound—here," Fury went on, as the location blinked on the monitor. "You will then use all stealth possible to approach and enter. If you encounter anyone, silence him. The alarm must not be spread, or it's certain that the compound will go into lockdown." The map disappeared and Fury came back. "If you penetrate, you will have four options. One: capture Doom. Two: capture Schmidt. Three: capture them both. Four: steal the project, or a vital component from the project. Any of these can be used as a bargaining chip."

Fury paused. Then, a buzzing sound issued, and a small metal drawer slid open from one of the walls. Tony spun around to face it.

"There are five ear-pieces here—all Stark tech. You are each to wear one. You will use it to communicate with each other, and with Agent Romanov back at base. She also has these schematics right in front of her, and she will be able to tell you which way to turn if you happen to get lost."

Loki's scowl rippled out from him, so poisonous Thor almost choked. He glanced at his brother again—Loki stared at the opposite wall, seeing nothing, gray eyes fixed.

"Any questions, gentlemen?" Fury asked.

"Yes," Steve said, glancing down at his hands. "What happens when they don't want to be captured?"

Fury paused for a moment.

"That's your call, Captain." He lifted his chin. "Good luck."

The screen blinked off. All of them stayed where they were, silent, not looking at each other—and the train rocked gently as it hummed along, carrying them further and further into the depths of the city.

AAAAA

Natasha Romanov walked down the center of the women's dark hallway toward the common room. She could hear quiet conversation and the soft flipping of magazine pages at the far end. She lifted her head as she stepped out into the light of the room, and glanced around briefly at each woman seated on the couches. And they _all _instantly looked at her.

Jane Foster, who was clutching her necklace, went completely ashen, her brown eyes wide. Next to her, Sif straightened, and her strong jaw tensed. Across the way, Pepper slowly closed her magazine and narrowed her eyes. Marie looked at her out of the corner of her eye, like a dog considering whether or not to bite. Natasha smiled warmly at them all.

"There's not much going on at the switchboard at the moment," she joked, easily sitting down on the same couch as Marie, which was closest. She leaned over and picked up a tabloid magazine from the coffee table and flipped it open. "There won't be for at least fifteen, twenty minutes, I think. It takes that long for them to get there, and until then there's radio silence."

None of them answered. She didn't expect them to. She let out a contented sigh, and began reading an article about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt's domestic problems.

Only about two minutes later, Pepper stood up, tossed her magazine down on the couch, and start toward the hall.

"I'm going to go check on Peggy," she said stiffly. A few seconds later, her door opened, then shut—and Natasha caught the click of a lock.

Jane went next. But she offered no excuse—she just got up and hurried away. Almost as if she was about to be sick. Natasha half smiled. She listened, and heard Jane's door shut and lock, too.

As one, Sif and Marie got up and left as well. They murmured together in the hallway for a moment, then went to their separate rooms—Marie mentioned something about trying to get some sleep.

Their doors clacked shut. Silence fell.

Natasha slowly put down her magazine.

She rose to her feet, and stepped silently back up the hall. She glanced at each woman's door, making certain it was latched.

Then, once she was out of the hall, she strode easily toward the main console in the war room.

She entered the great chamber, mounted the steps, approached the main terminal, and bent over a single red button. She pressed it down, held it, and took a breath.

"All Quiet on the Western Front."

AAAAA

The train drew to a halt, its breaks groaning. A deep click came from somewhere outside, and the car seemed to sigh. Then, silence fell.

The door slid open. A moist, damp smell invaded. Darkness waited.

Steve stood up. So did Tony. Finally, Loki did as well.

"All right," Steve nodded, his expression hardening. "Let's see what's out there."

He stepped past Thor, ducked his head and stepped out into the blackness. Logan followed on his heels, not even glancing at the others. Tony, picking up his suit case, gave Thor a crooked smile.

"This should be fun."

Thor snorted.

"I'm not sure it's to my liking."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Tony muttered. He paused in front of Loki, and frowned down at him. "You okay, buddy?" he asked.

Loki blinked, lifted his head and briefly met his eyes. He nodded once, then glanced away.

"'kay," Tony cleared his throat. "Let's get this over with."

He pushed past them and out of the train. Taking a deep breath, Thor put on his helmet and followed him, knowing Loki would come after.

He had to bend down considerably to get out of that low-ceilinged car—and the next moment, he had stepped out onto a stone platform, lit by a single yellow, dust-covered lamp bolted to the brick wall. The others stood in a semi-circle, glancing around at the vast darkness that went on, seemingly for miles, in two directions. Thor winced—the ear piece in his right ear felt uncomfortable. But they all wore one. Thor could hear the faintest hissing noise coming from it in the silence—and when one of the other men spoke, he could hear his tones with the device as well as his own senses. Besides this, every footstep and breath echoed as it would in the empty throne room in Asgard.

"Okay," Steve took a breath, pushing a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes. "If I read the schematics right, we have to head that way, north, for about a quarter of a mile, then turn left. We should hit the main door almost right away. Stark will get us through, then stay as backup."

"Wait a second, _backup?_" Tony held up a hand. "I'm nobody's backup—I'm the A team, here."

"Your suit isn't exactly built for sneaking," Logan pointed out.

"I actually don't anticipate much sneaking," Tony retorted. "You know there's going to be a firefight in there, and you're gonna wish that I was—"

A hand clamped down on Thor's arm. Thor sucked in a breath.

His vision swam. His lungs locked. Air whirled and whistled all around him.

Everything went black.

He blinked.

He stood in an abandoned tunnel, in between two sets of rails, next to a high wall. One lamp, high above, barely lit him.

He spun around—

To see Loki standing there, alone.

"You did that," Thor observed. "We've left them behind."

"Of course," Loki said. "The main gate is just beyond." He then reached up, pulled out his earpiece and flung it on the rocks. He stomped on it, and crushed it. "Take yours off, too."

"Why?" Thor asked as he took off his helmet and pulled the earpiece loose. Loki glanced at him. Thor threw it down. Loki smashed it beneath his heel, too.

"I'll be hanged if I let that woman say three words into my ear," Loki growled.

Thor smiled. Loki drew himself up, faced him, and met his eyes.

"Now, brother," he said, cold. "What do you say we find these two dogs, kill them, and go home?"

Thor chuckled. The sound rumbled up and down the tunnel. Thor slapped his hand down on Loki's shoulder.

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that." He squeezed Loki's shoulder, then let go put his helmet back on. "Let's go."

AAAAA

"Well, this is just _dandy_," Logan said with a caustic half smile as he, Steve and Tony marched down the tunnel, following the tracks, the gravel crunching beneath their feet. "They can _disappear_."

"Both of them probably have a whole arsenal they haven't told us about," Tony muttered, hefting his suit from one hand to the other.

"Yeah, well, now we have to think about the possibility of Thor doing what he wanted to do in the first place," Logan growled. Steve glanced at him.

"What?"

Logan met his eyes for a second and his mouth hardened.

"He wanted to break the door down. You heard him." He glared down the tunnel. "And you _know _they're out ahead of us."

"_Avengers, do you read me?" _Natasha's voice crackled in Steve's ear. He canted his head.

"Um…yes, Agent, we can hear you…" he glanced at the other two—they nodded.

"_Very good. I seem to have lost contact with Thor and Loki. I assume their earpieces are malfunctioning."_

"No," Steve sighed. "They appear to have left us behind. It's just Stark and Logan with me, now."

"_Understood. I will continue to attempt contact with them. Your group is now two-hundred meters from the main door." _

"Thank you," Steve answered, trying to get used to this.

_"I'll keep in touch—and I'll let you know if any significant heat signatures approach your location." _

Steve's eyes went wide—she could tell that from all the way back at base?

"Sounds great," Tony sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Man, Jarvis is gonna _love _competing with _her_."

"_I'm sure he will,_" Natasha said. Steve bit his lip. Tony lifted his head and frowned.

"Um, is this gonna be the way it is the whole time?" he asked. "We can't switch the vox off and on?"

"_No_, _Mr. Stark. That's not a feature you designed. I'll be able to hear you the whole time." _

"Actually, I'm pretty sure—"

_"I advise radio silence at the moment," _Natasha interrupted. "_The tunnels where you're walking conduct sound very well, and you are in close proximity to the gate."_

Steve saw Tony's jaw muscles clench, and Logan cleared his throat—and Steve suddenly realized that communication amidst the team on this mission might be a problem now.

They continued down the tunnel, walking more quietly, saying nothing. Then, up ahead of them in the shadows, Steve spotted a broad door.

_Shink_.

The sound of metal shooting out from several sheaths made Steve jerk sideways. He whirled toward Logan, heart pounding.

Those three long, gleaming metal claws now protruded from each of Logan's fists.

"What?" Logan demanded. Steve swallowed, trying not to stare.

"Sorry," he said. "Just…not used to that yet."

"Oh, come on," Logan strode forward. "We're wasting time."

Steve swallowed and followed him, and Tony came right after.

Then, Steve's steps lagged. The three men halted. Logan swore under his breath.

The big door stood open.

"Well, crap," Tony muttered.

"The Odinsons have already gone through," Logan spat.

"How did they do that?" Steve breathed. Tony sent him a sidelong look.

"These guys fly through stars, Steve. I don't think opening a little door is much of a problem."

"Well, they've probably tripped some sort of alarm," Steve grunted. "Romanov, are you picking anything up?"

_"No, Captain_," she said. _"The coast appears to be clear."_

"Any idea where Thor and Loki are?"

_"No, sir," _Natasha replied. Both Logan and Tony frowned—but neither said anything.

"All right—we're moving in," Steve said. He turned to Tony. "Stark, put on your suit and stay here."

Tony's eyebrows went up.

"Hold it—what?"

"I'm not confident we haven't been detected," Steve said. "And I'm pretty sure the brothers have opened the next door for us. Logan and I will go in and see what we can find out—we need you to stay here and come if we call for backup."

"You're kidding, right?" Tony stepped toward him. "What am I supposed to—"

"This isn't up for discussion," Steve cut him off. "Let's go, Jim."

Stark cursed and raked his hand through his hair. Steve ignored him, and with Logan at his side, they plunged through the big door into the long, dimly-lit corridor beyond.

AAAAA

"Are you all right?"

Pepper gasped and started at the quiet voice behind her. She quickly swiped at her eyes, spun around and forced herself to smile at Peggy, who lay propped up on pillows on the bed, half lit by the lamp on the nightstand.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to wake you up," Pepper managed, sniffing and wiping her eyes again.

"Dearest, at my age, I'm not doing much sleeping," Peggy said wryly, her bright brown eyes watching Pepper. "What's the matter?"

Pepper sighed and sank down on the edge of her own bed, glancing down at her lap and fiddling with a bit of her skirt.

"Oh, I don't know," she murmured. "The same thing that's always the matter, I guess."

"You're in love with Howard's boy."

Pepper's head came up. But Peggy just smiled softly back at her, her expression both weary and understanding, strands of her white hair lying in wisps across the pillow. And her gaze went right through her.

Pepper began to cry. She couldn't help herself anymore—couldn't stop it, couldn't put on a stalwart face and smile through her intense, almost physical suffering for one more second. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the choking sounds that fought their way up her throat, and her tears spilled down her face faster than she could count.

"Oh, Miss Potts…" Peggy murmured, and Pepper heard a rustling as Peggy pushed off her covers, shuffled across and sat down on her right side. Then, she felt Peggy's frail but warm hand come up to rest on her back, and gently rub back and forth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Pepper tried, brushing at her eyes, taking deep breaths and desperately trying to compose herself—but the ache in her chest only got worse.

"And what on earth are you sorry for?" Peggy wanted to know. "Stark's broken your heart. I'd be crying too." Her tone hardened. "Though the men in his family aren't exactly famous for chasing worthwhile causes."

"I thought it was different between us, though," Pepper protested, clearing her eyes and clasping her hands hard in her lap. "He and I…We've worked together for years and we've always been friends, and then he…he was captured by those terrorists and I thought I'd never see him again." She took another deep breath to try and calm down. "And when he came back, he was different. More driven, focused, and he…and he quit chasing girls. I mean completely." Pepper glanced over at Peggy's soft, weathered face and waiting eyes. "Then when his arc reactor started poisoning him and he thought he was going to die, he started again. I mean, he…he didn't go to…to _bed _with them like he did before. At least, not that I know of…"

Peggy's hand tightened on Pepper's shoulder—and for the first time, Pepper truly needed that support. For the knife of betrayal that ripped through her at the memory of what Tony had been in the habit of doing—a knife that had been dulled by denial for years—nearly made her double over now. In fact, her chest and throat clamped up so hard she couldn't breathe. How had she borne it for so long? How had she blinded herself, kept herself from feeling anything, as she calmly arranged his Flavor of the Week's dry cleaning and transportation? Why had she stayed with him, letting him inflict that pain on her, day after day, year after year?

Pepper's face twisted, and she closed her eyes.

"Miss Potts," Peggy cut into her thoughts. "You are a very clever, lovely young lady. I'm sure dozens of chaps would give the world to have you on their arm." Peggy tilted her head toward Pepper. "You are aware of that, right?"

Weakly, Pepper nodded.

"So why do you stay with Stark?" Peggy asked thoughtfully. "_Besides _the fact that you love him. Because we both know that's not a good enough reason to put yourself through all this."

Pepper blinked her eyes back open, and swallowed.

"I've always been able to see what he _could _be, you know?" she half smiled at Peggy. "I've seen his potential—how heroic and…and selfless and _good _he can be, without all the things that distract him and make him lose his focus on what actually matters."

"And…Why do you love him?" Peggy asked.

Pepper's whole chest constricted and her heart tore.

"Because he loves _me_," she choked, gesturing helplessly. "I can see it every time he looks at me, every time he says my name, every time he holds my hand or…or kisses my forehead, I can _feel _it, Peggy. He needs me there, he _wants _me there, but he…" Pepper stopped, closed her eyes and hung her head. "I don't know."

"I don't know either," Peggy admitted. "It doesn't make sense to me. Of course, I've been blessed with two men who were single-minded and determined." She smiled. "And, I'm afraid, quite a bit less complicated than Anthony Stark."

Pepper could only nod. Peggy dropped her hand and brought it around to her own lap.

"All I know is that I wouldn't put up with his nonsense much longer," she stated, and shook her head. "He probably has no idea how utterly confounded he would be without you."

Pepper almost laughed. Peggy reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of Pepper's face, which sent a warm glow through her. Pepper sighed, wiped her tears away, and smiled at the old lady.

"Thanks, Peggy."

Peggy's eyes twinkled.

"You're welcome, Miss Potts."

AAAAA

"It is far too easy to get lost in these corridors," Thor muttered. "Everything is uniform—look at it."

"I am," Loki answered from Thor's right, his footsteps far quieter than Thor's as they hurried through the musty, grungy, dimly-lit tunnels.

"A red stripe lines every wall, near the ceiling," Loki pointed out. "And every fifty meters, there is a number. Look—five. See it?"

"Yes," Thor nodded, his cape rustling behind him. He adjusted his grip on Mjollnir. "Are we close?"

"Yes, very," Loki answered. "There is a huge power source in the center of this fortress—it's giving me a headache."

Thor lowered his head and lengthened his strides.

"We need to move more quickly," he decided. "Something is not right. We haven't met any guards or seen anyone at all. It's not possible that we have entered undetected. Perhaps they are waiting for us, or…" Thor trailed off. His steps hitched. He winced, and his hand moved reflexively to his middle. A twinge traveled right through his center, to his backbone. He fought it back, and cleared his throat. "Once we get closer, we can slow and listen, and then you can…Loki?" Thor glanced to his right. His brother was gone. He stopped, spun around—

Loki had collapsed onto his knees.

Thor leaped back to him and knelt down, taking him by the shoulder.

"What is it?" he demanded. "What happened?"

Loki was shivering so hard Thor could feel it in his bones—and he watched as his brother's face drained to grey. Loki's pale hands spasmed toward his stomach.

"Thor…" he strangled. "_Thor—"_

"I am here," Thor shook him. "I am right here—What is wrong?"

"I…I can't…" Loki's left arm clenched toward his chest and he took a sharp breath. "Am I…" Loki's eyes widened in panic and confusion. "_Surtr, _am I _bleeding?"_ He clawed at his armor—Thor reached down to help him, his heartbeat raging in his ears.

The armor crumbled away and disappeared—Loki fell stiffly back against the wall, gasping, sweat rolling down his forehead.

Thor pressed both hands hard to his brother's midsection, trying to feel if his tunic was wet. Loki grabbed Thor's wrists and clamped down—he breathed in short grunts. Thor tugged loose and turned his hands over—

They were clean.

Loki kicked out, grinding his heel against the stone. He gritted his teeth and hissed.

"You are not bleeding—What do you feel?" Thor leaned toward him.

Loki didn't answer. Instead, his face contorted—and he thrashed.

Terror lanced through Thor's whole body.

"Loki! Loki, can you hear me?" he cried, grasping Loki by the back of the neck and fighting against his convulsions.

Loki's breaths came in short gasps and his eyes rolled beneath his eyelids. Thor's heart seized as he held his brother in a vise grip, his mind spinning.

Then, all at once, Loki went still.

Thor stayed absolutely motionless, holding his breath.

Loki's eyes opened.

He looked at Thor.

And emerald color flooded his gray eyes.

"What happened?" Thor cried.

Loki sucked in a deep breath, glanced around, brow furrowed, and slowly dragged himself up into a sitting position.

"I…don't know," he murmured, his gaze flickering. His brow tightened. "I felt as if…something had gone through me…or struck me…" He trailed off, and met Thor's eyes.

Thor turned cold.

"We cannot stay," Loki whispered.

"Freeze!" The shouted command banged through the tunnel. Thor gripped Loki's wrist.

"Do not move," the commander ordered. "We have you surrounded."

Thor sensed them—perhaps a dozen black-clad, helmed men to their left and a dozen to their right, all pointing weapons at them.

Loki glanced at Thor and raised an eyebrow.

Thor smirked.

"Oh, good," he growled. "I am _just _in the mood."

He hefted Mjollnir, lifted his arm—

And with a roll of deafening thunder, he threw it.

AAAAA

Steve jerked to a halt. Static hissed in his ear.

Wincing, he pressed his back against the tunnel wall and put his handgun in its holster.

"Romanov? Romanov, do you read me?"

Logan's head twitched, he pulled out the earpiece and pressed his hand to his ear.

"What was that?" Logan gritted, squeezing one eye shut and glancing at Steve. Steve opened his mouth—

And the static cut out.

"Romanov?" Steve tried again. "Romanov, do you read me?"

Silence answered. Steve looked at Logan.

"She was just there."

"I know," Logan nodded.

"What did she say—just five minutes ago…" Steve said, pressing his fingers to his earpiece and listening for any sign of life. "We had two right turns and one left turn and we might run into some unfriendlies…" Steve frowned. "Stark? Stark are you there?"

Nothing.

"We've lost him, too," Steve huffed.

"Yeah, well," Logan snorted, glancing around. "This whole operation is starting to smell bad."

Steve set his jaw and pulled out his gun again.

"Okay, looks like we're on our own. We'll follow her directions and wing it from there—if Thor and Loki haven't gotten there first."

"Whatever you say," Logan muttered. "As long as we get out of here quick."

Steve just nodded, checked his gun, and stepped around the corner, Logan following—

Just as a terrific clap of thunder shattered the air.

Directly ahead of them, a row of black-clad guards burst like bowling pins.

Thor's hammer screamed toward them down the tunnel.

Steve and Logan threw themselves out of the way.

Four of the guards had evaded it—they spun around—

And saw Steve and Logan.

They shouted, and opened fire.

Metal shrieked against metal as Logan's claws unsheathed. Steve brought his gun up and fired three times. It kicked in his hand.

Thor's towering, shining form straightened up—Mjollnir whistled back over Steve and Logan's heads and slapped into his hand. Steve caught a glimpse of Loki sitting on the ground, ash-white.

Steve glanced back at Logan—Logan nodded. They braced themselves and advanced.

Shots rang out past Steve's ears—from _behind_ him.

He whirled. Ten helmeted men raced toward them, firing as they ran—

Steve ducked.

And Logan fell to one knee. Blood bloomed from his back.

"Jim!" Steve cried.

"Get back—get cover!" Logan roared. Steve fired into the oncoming ranks, knocking down two, and grabbed Logan's collar. He yanked him up and they dove around a corner into a dead-end hall. Steve flung Logan back against the wall and tore open his coat—

"I'm fine," Logan snapped, grabbing his wrist and sending him a blazing look.

Thunder hammered through the tunnel again. A blinding flash of lightning launched Mjollnir through the rows—four more guards slammed to the stones.

Thor advanced on the guards who had shot at Steve and Logan as Mjollnir came spinning back to him. He strode toward them, whirling his hammer.

Logan gritted his teeth and heaved himself to his feet. Three bullets dropped from his chest and clinked on the floor.

Steve got up, staring.

"How much ammo you got left?" Logan asked. Steve's mind flew.

There were guards on both sides of their group now—they were hemmed in my firepower and cement walls. Even with Thor's hammer, if Loki was incapacitated…

They would last about fifteen seconds.

Steve met Logan's eyes. His blood turned to ice.

Logan nodded, and unsheathed his claws.

Steve set his teeth and cocked his gun.

And with animal roars, they both turned and leaped out into the hall.

They twisted in midair, and landed hard with their backs to Thor.

Logan hacked through a gun barrel and plunged his claws through a guard's chest.

Steve leveled his gun and fired four times in succession. Four guards near Loki toppled onto their faces.

Thor swung his hammer and knocked a guard's head off. Blood flew. Thor spun and electrocuted two more.

The stench of ozone and smoke choked the air.

Black surges, like rolling waves, appeared at both ends of the halls—

Twenty more guards charged in.

And their long guns glowed blue.

Steve did not hesitate—he fired directly into the oncoming crowd.

Loki, his face white, slowly rose up and pressed back against the wall. Gunfire whizzed past him.

The new guards leaped over the bodies of their brethren and aimed their blue glowing weapons at Loki, Steve, Logan and Thor.

Steve gasped a quick, inarticulate prayer.

Logan leaned toward them, bared his teeth and roared like a bear.

Thor raised his hammer, and thunder snarled in threat—

The wall to Steve's right exploded.

His ears went deaf.

Stones flew toward his face.

He shocked back against the other wall.

A rock slammed into his forehead.

Everything went black.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_

_(Also, if you want to know the story of Thor's scar, on his back, please read my companion story "Nightingale"—it really helps flesh out that whole storyline, and you will need to read it in order to feel the full effect of coming events. Thanks!)_


	13. Chapter 13

_All right, brace yourselves! This is gonna be a rocky road…_

_-During the FIRST section of this chapter, I listened to the Tron Legacy Soundtrack, Track 1._

_-During the SECOND section of this chapter, I listened to the Gladiator Soundtrack "Sorrow" and The Lion King soundtrack "Kings of the Past."_

_-During the THIRD section, I listened to Prince of Egypt soundtrack, "Death of the Firstborn."_

_VVVVV_

Chapter 13

"_One day you'll ask me which is more important to me,_

_You or my life._

_I'll say, 'Of course, my life.' _

_And you'll go and walk away without even knowing_

_That you are my life." _

_-Unknown  
_

It was a bumpy, hazy, pain-filled ride all the way home. The whole time, Steve lay on his back on some sort of bench seat—and the voices of yelling men ricocheted off the walls of the small space, making his head ring.

His head. Had he been hit? Some sort of shrapnel…A rock, maybe?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to smooth out the rippling, blurry sounds and images that cascaded through his mind.

Dimly, he became aware that hot liquid coated the right side of his face and stuck in his hair.

Yep. He'd been hit in the head.

Gradually, as the subway car rocked beneath him and the screaming match continued all around him, Steve began to piece things back together.

He'd come to as he was being carried by someone—supported was more like. It was Logan—he had smelled the scent of his cigar in his clothes and hair. Steve could only hear faint, muted sounds at that point. He had been dragged over a pile of rubble and out into another hallway. Other men came with them—and two iron giants. It had taken Steve several seconds to realize they were Thor and Stark.

Stark. He had done that. He'd blown through the wall. He'd saved them.

And had also sent the whole mission straight to hell in a handcart.

Now, as Steve lay there, trying to breathe evenly, he could feel his healing start to kick in, stitching up his concussion. He couldn't heal as fast as Logan, apparently, but this pace was good enough.

His head cleared. His hearing did not. Cautiously, he sat up, and put his feet on the floor.

Logan glanced down at him—a dirt-covered Thor and a ragged Tony both kept shouting. Loki stood back against the wall, arms folded, a cold, deadly, snake-like look on his white face.

Logan bent down and put his hand on Steve's shoulder. He asked a question. Steve saw his mouth move but only heard mumbling. Steve sighed, shook his head, and pointed to his ear. A flicker of concern crossed Logan's face, but Steve shook his head again and waved him off. This had happened to him before—he wasn't worried. About _that_, anyway.

At last, the train stopped. Loki swept toward the door and disappeared outside instantly. Thor, still raging, followed him. Tony threw his suit case down and followed, gesturing wildly. Logan helped Steve to his feet and they both trailed after.

As they walked up the cement stairs from the platform, noises began to clarify. Steve focused on putting one foot in front of the other, still leaning on Logan, as they passed beneath the fluorescent lights. Logan often shouted at the others as well—Steve could almost make out his words, and his voice vibrated Steve's vertebrae.

They arrived in the main war room. Logan led Steve to one of the chairs, and Steve sank down into it, gritting his teeth.

The next moment, he heard a soft hissing sound, then a click.

His hearing came back, full and clear.

And he immediately flinched.

"—and I slaughtered a dozen of those men before you arrived!" Thor bellowed, shaking the rafters.

"So what?" Tony wanted to know as he stormed into the room and up to the board, his hair mussed and his eyes fiery. "You needed help. Are you really so full of yourself that you don't know that?"

Loki lighted beside Thor and didn't speak. Logan left Steve's side, tore off his jacket, flung it down and charged up to Thor.

"You were _not _doing your job," Logan pointed at him. "Steve and I could have gotten shot to pieces right beside you—you didn't even know we were there!"

The argument escalated as Tony, Logan and Thor all began screaming at once, grating against Steve's bones. Finally, he heaved himself to his feet and raised his voice above the chaos.

"I actually can't believe any of you are trying to justify yourselves."

They stopped, and turned toward him, brows furrowed. Steve met each of their eyes.

"All of us could have gotten _killed _tonight," Steve stated. "Not a single one of you acted like a member of a team. We had _no _discipline, _no one _listened to each other—everyone acted like a selfish jerk." He thumped his chest with his thumb. "Fury put me in charge, but nobody even stopped to ask my _opinion_ before charging off and doing whatever he wanted. There was _no_ semblance of order or command structure whatsoever." Steve shook his head, rage surging through his blood. "We had no chance at getting those guys. We failed before we even stepped on that train."

"I'm sorry, but how could I ask your opinion about what I was about to do when the _radios _were dead, huh?" Tony demanded, facing Steve. "Natasha was gone _and _all you guys went out—I had to assume the worst and I had to act on that!" he turned on Thor, jabbing a finger at him. "And what the heck were _you_ guys thinking, huh? Bailing out and then tossing your communicators so none of us know if you're even on the same planet?"

"That was a ridiculous and selfish move," Steve declared, stepping toward the brothers. "We needed you with us and you left us. You nearly cost us our lives."

"None of you needed to be there at all," Loki said flatly, giving Steve an icy look. "As we were dealing with Doom and the tesseract, this was a personal and Asgardian matter. My brother and I have broken into far more heavily-fortified places than that." Loki lifted a disdainful eyebrow. "We didn't need you."

Tony's eyes went wide and his mouth opened, but Logan beat him to it.

"Get off your high horse, you pompous, arrogant piece of crap," he barked at Loki, his voice like a knife's edge. "_All _of this affects _our _home, _our _lives. We could have done this without you—and we _have _done things like this without you, all our lives. As far as I'm concerned…" he glanced over at Thor. "It's _you _guys who were just along for the ride."

Loki gave him a purely wicked sneer.

"You have a fairly high opinion of yourself," His eyebrows flickered. "For an insect."

Logan punched him. His fist clanged.

Loki's head whiplashed backward.

Loki staggered back, fell sideways—then spit blood out onto the floor.

Thor bellowed and backhanded Logan in the chest.

Logan flew over the war board. He crashed into the lower part of the landing. Steel crumpled and shrieked.

Tony leaped out of the way. Steve grabbed the back of the squeaky chair and lifted it.

Logan scrambled to his feet, the veins in his neck and arms pumped full of blood, his teeth bared, his eyes wild.

He unsheathed his claws. Metal sang.

Loki straightened and balled his fists, sending him an unearthly, chilling glare.

Thor yanked Mjollnir from his belt. Static electricity rippled.

"Hey, guys."

Steve blinked.

That was Tony's voice—and his tone sounded completely different.

Steve glanced at him. Tony stood, one hand slightly raised, his eyes unfocused, his brow furrowed.

"What?" Steve asked, frowning.

"We're right by the girls' wing," Tony said slowly. He looked up. His dark eyes met Steve's. "Don't you think they would have come out by now?"

Nobody moved.

Steve's heart stopped.

Then, he lunged toward the door and broke into a run. Tony whirled and raced on his heels—and the other three galloped after.

AAAAA

Thor's mind did not track as quickly as the sense of icy dread that shot through his chest. He raced after Tony and Steve, his cape billowing behind him, Loki and Logan at his side.

Their feet pounded on the tiles—a riotous, hammering chorus. They plunged into the long, narrow hallway as one, each sucking in sharp breaths. Steve and Tony bolted to the opposite end—Logan shoved past Thor and followed them.

Loki leaped sideways and flung open Jane's door. Thor skidded to a halt and grabbed the doorknob to Sif's chambers. It was locked.

He snapped the doorknob off with both hands and knocked the door open.

The room was empty.

Thor's gaze darted through the room…

The room had been up-ended. The pillows were shredded, the bed broken down, the blankets strewn, the table knocked over, the lamp broken...

Thor stepped inside, his breaths heaving.

"Sif!" he roared. He took two strides and flung open the door to the closet. It was empty, too. "Sif!"

"Oh, God!"

The strangled prayer came from down the corridor.

Thor whirled, kicked the door aside and came back out into the hall. He couldn't breathe, now. He stormed through the half shadow toward Tony, who stood with arms braced in the doorway of Miss Potts' and Peggy's room, and Steve, who stared over Tony's shoulder. Steve was locked in place, eyes wide. Tony's face was white. It was he who had uttered that prayer.

Thor grabbed the doorframe just above Tony's hand and, panting, leaned around to see—

Three bullet holes scarred the wall. And a wide pool of deep red blood stained the carpet.

Thor spun around, his vision fading in and out. His stomach turned.

He blinked three times, rapidly—and saw Logan standing in the center of Marie's door. Thor only had to glance at the angle of his taut frame to know that her room was empty, too.

"Loki!" Thor cried, turning on his heel and racing back up the hall. He swung around the doorframe and into his brother's room, lightheaded and ill. He jerked to a halt, his throat closing.

Loki stood in the middle of the otherwise empty room, facing Thor.

His head came up—startled eyes met his brother's.

"Are they gone?" Thor demanded hoarsely. "Where…Are they in the compound?"

Loki stood still for just an instant, then shook his head once.

Thor turned helplessly and raked a hand through his hair. He pointed at the hallway.

"Someone was wounded in Pepper's room," he said, voice breaking. "Come on!"

Thor spun to see Stark charge back up the hallway, his jaw set, his eyes blazing. A few moments later, Logan came after, then Steve. Steve's half-bloodied face had gone blank.

"Come," Thor urged his brother. Loki swallowed and stepped up to him, and together they left the room and followed Stark.

"This whole place is equipped with security cameras I designed," Stark declared, marching across the floor to the main console. "With any luck we'll be able to see anyone who came in, anyone who went out, and what happened in here." He hopped up the stairs, Logan on his heels. Steve dragged himself up after them—Thor and Loki followed.

Logan pressed in beside Tony—Steve edged closer to Logan. Thor did the same to Steve, and Loki's shoulder leaned against Thor's. They all crowded together, each man's breathing echoing in their ears, on the small platform in front of the central screen.

Tony leaned over the board and punched several buttons. The screen came on. He flipped more switches, and selected one of the options from a list of short green phrases.

An image came up and filled the screen—several black-and-white images, actually, divided by frames.

"There's the entrance hallway," Tony pointed. "There's the guards' barracks, there's our war room, and there's the girls' wing."

"When was this?" Logan asked.

"Well, it…There's Natasha," Tony pointed to the frame of the women's wing. His hand shook.

Thor watched as Natasha's sleek form withdrew from Loki's room. She left, and then crossed into another frame into the war board room. On the previous frame, Loki left his room as well, head down, and swept out, across, and toward the door that led to the Underground.

"Okay, so this is just before we left," Tony concluded.

"It couldn't have happened much after…" Steve whispered.

They waited with bated breath, watching. Nothing happened. The girls wandered back and forth, until finally all of them wound up in their common room, sitting on the couches reading booklets—except Peggy. She had not left Pepper's room.

"Here comes Natasha again," Logan noted.

They watched as Natasha came back through the war room and trailed down the hallway to where the other women were. She sat down with them. And one by one, the women left her there and returned to their own rooms, expressions of disgust on their faces.

The doors all shut. Natasha sat for just a moment.

Then she got up, put her booklet down, and walked back up the hall.

"What was that about?" Tony muttered. No one answered.

Natasha made her way back to the main board, bent over, and said something into the comm. But since this recording supplied no sound, they could not hear it.

Then, for a long while, nothing happened. All was still. They watched the guards meander back and forth through the other hallways, chatting with each other, checking their weapons. Natasha sat at the board and talked—to the them on their mission, Thor assumed. But she never looked at her other instruments.

Silence reigned. Nothing unusual happened. Thor felt as if his breastbone was about to break.

"Look," Loki breathed.

Thor glanced at him—he stared up at the top right hand corner.

They all instantly turned to look.

And their eyes fixed on one SHIELD guard…

Who had begun to look decidedly inhuman.

Chills raced all over Thor's skin as he watched the guard's body warp and lengthen, completely losing its Midgardian grace and frame. The guard's face twisted and darkened. His hands grew—claws sprouted from his fingernails. And when he turned, they all saw his face.

A reptilian, savage face—jagged, bared teeth, a short, wrinkled nose, and huge, glittering, slanted yellow eyes. Pointed ears covered most of each side of his head—and after he had cast about him, checking his surroundings, he grinned like a demon.

"_What _is _that?" _Steve demanded.

"A Skrull," Thor hissed, gripping Mjollnir.

"That's really unhelpful," Tony said tightly, eyes fixed on the screen.

"A race from another realm," Loki murmured, the screen light glinting across his eyes. "Shape-shifters—uncivilized monsters."

"They should not be on Midgard," Thor bit out.

No one else could draw enough breath to speak—for now they watched as, over and over, every single SHIELD guard in every single hallway mutated and twisted before their eyes into a Skrull legionnaire. They gestured to each other with their wicked, clawed hands, hefted their glowing rifles, and began to stalk inward—converging on the main room.

"Natasha's alone in there…" Steve murmured. They watched, fixed, as a dozen Skrulls entered the room, rounded the war board, and approached Natasha.

"Doesn't she know they're there?" Tony cried.

Then, Natasha turned around in her chair, and calmly looked at them.

She spoke. They glanced at each other, and snapped their teeth—

And answered.

Natasha stood up. And she drew her handgun.

"What—" Tony started.

The Skrulls parted for her. She stepped down, strode through them—

And they followed her.

"Wh…Is she one of them?" Steve started.

"No," Loki said—with such certainty that no one else could speak.

Thor gripped Mjollnir so hard he thought his bones would crack, as Natasha passed out of one frame and into another—the frame displaying the women's wing.

Natasha marched all the way down to the end of the hall. Eight Skrulls followed her. Then, four broke off and stopped outside Marie's door. Four more paused outside Sif's as well. Then four hunched in front of Jane's.

The Skrulls lifted their rifles. They waited.

Beside Thor, Loki began to tremble.

Natasha cocked her gun. She glanced down the hall at the Skrulls.

She kicked Pepper's door open.

It banged against the inside wall.

Natasha fired three times into the room.

Three flashes blinded the screen.

Tony let out a yelp like he'd been hit. He shocked back into Steve—Steve grabbed him. They gripped each other's arms.

Natasha lowered her gun, stepped into the room and disappeared.

The next instant, she re-emerged…

Dragging a weeping Pepper by the arm.

Steve choked. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. Tony wilted back against Steve's chest, losing the rest of his color.

Sif's door blasted open—Thor jumped.

Sif boiled out of her room, sword flashing. She viciously hacked through one Skrull's neck and the body fell. The other three Skrulls reached inside their coats and withdrew short metal sticks—which elongated into staffs with brilliant glowing heads. They whirled them, opened their mouths, and drove Sif back, back into her room.

Thor lost sight of her.

His heart suspended.

All of a sudden, Marie flung her door open and leaped outside, eyes wide—

Right into the arms of the four waiting Skrulls. She thrashed and kicked against them—they lifted her up off the ground.

Logan burst into a litany of violent cursing—Thor barely heard him. Marie lunged toward the Skrulls' faces and clawed their scaly skin.

Nothing happened.

They wrenched her arms around behind her back and held her still. Natasha flung Pepper into the grasp of two other Skrulls, then turned and clubbed Marie over the head with her gun.

Marie collapsed.

Logan howled, picked up a control device from the board and threw it with all his force against the wall.

Then—Jane emerged. But unlike the others, she was prepared.

She lashed out with a table lamp—she crushed a Skrull's head with it. The lamp shattered. He toppled. Another Skrull dove at her—she grappled with him, kicked his knee and he fell. Another Skrull came from behind and snatched her by the hair, yanking her head back.

Thor reached over and grasped Loki's hand. His brother's fingers felt like ice. Thor didn't let go.

A Skrull tumbled dead onto his back, out of Sif's room. Sif, her sword bloody, her hair hanging in her face, stormed out, gritting her teeth. She saw Jane in the clutches of three Skrulls. Sif dove at them, her sword blinding.

Pepper twisted out of one Skrull's hold and grabbed Natasha's collar.

Natasha spun, gripped Pepper's wrist and brought the butt of her gun down sharply on her temple. Pepper hit the floor.

"Oh, God…" Tony prayed again, weakly.

Natasha pointed toward Sif, who now tangled with one of the Skrull's staffs, and shouted something. Three Skrulls left Pepper and two left Marie and charged at Sif.

One moved like lightning—he cracked Sif over the head with his glowing staff.

She crashed to her knees and shook her head, trying to lift her sword.

Another Skrull kicked her blade away.

Yet another pointed a long, strange gun at her—and fired.

A glowing net shot from the barrel. It enveloped Sif, constricted around her like a cocoon, until she lay tightly bound on the floor on her back, completely motionless.

Thor suddenly had to swallow hard three times, and blink away a cloudiness in his eyes. Loki intertwined his fingers with Thor's and squeezed so hard that pain shot up his arm. He squeezed back.

Jane shrieked in rage and fear. Though Thor could not hear her, he could imagine the sound as her face contorted and her mouth released the cry. She scrambled through the Skrulls, fighting to get to Sif.

Natasha saw her. Her face turned hard. She moved.

She snatched a long staff from a Skrull, charged toward Jane, wound up and struck Jane in the stomach with all her might.

Light flashed from the staff.

Loki slammed backward into the railing—Thor's bones jolted.

Jane doubled over. Her eyes went wide and her lips opened in a wordless gasp.

Natasha spun, twirled the staff and battered Jane's head with it. Blood flew.

Jane wilted to the floor, brow twisted, blood running down her forehead, across her closed eyes and nose.

Natasha rose up, pointed to Jane, and gave another command. A Skrull stepped up and shot Jane with another net—it swallowed her, bound her up and locked her in rigid place on the floor.

Then, Natasha Romanov turned…

And looked right up at the camera—right out at the men watching. Her gaze—flat and defiant—burned across the distance.

And she reached down to her wrist, and pressed a button.

All the screens went blank.

Silence seized the room.

No one moved. No one spoke. No one breathed.

But they all wept.

Tears cut trails in the bloodstains on Steve's face—his blue eyes swam and clouded, his expression twisting. Tony hung his head and covered his eyes with his hand—a single hard swallow escaped him. Logan shifted restlessly and let out a low moan, like a bear who has been stabbed in the neck. Loki stared straight ahead, seeing nothing at all, two tears running down his cheeks—but no more followed. It was only after Thor had seen all this that he felt a tear drip from his own beard and land on his left hand—a hand that unconsciously pressed against his heart.

A red light on the console pierced his vision. He blinked, and glanced over at it. He frowned.

"What's that?" he asked huskily.

Tony's head came up. He swiped at his face.

"What?"

"That—a light just came on."

Logan turned and glanced at all of them—his eyes shone. Then, he stepped forward and pressed the red, glowing button.

The screen flashed on again.

And now, two men in a gray room stared back at them.

One had a face shaped like a skull—but it was blood red, and he had lips, and blazing eyes—but no nose. He wore a black uniform, he stood like an oak, with his hands clasped behind his back.

To his left stood a cloaked, hooded man—a man whose face seemed to glint like metal, and his eyes gleamed in the shadow that otherwise hid his features.

Johann Schmidt. And Victor Von Doom.

Hatred turned Thor's vision scarlet.

"I'm gonna—" Logan roared.

"Hold it," Tony grabbed his arm. "This is a recording."

"What?" Logan barked, turning on him.

"Look at the time in the corner," Tony said. "It was made about half an hour ago."

"Greetings, illustrious heroes," the Red Skull said, flashing a blindingly-white and bone-chilling smile at them. Thor did not recognize his accent—it rasped harshly. The Skull drew himself up. "You may have guessed by now that we are in possession of your sweethearts. Except the famous Captain America's dear Agent Carter. As her age and frailty would have only slowed us down, and neither of us have any use for her, she has been disposed of."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, his throat spasming as his tears flowed freely.

"But that _unfortunate_ circumstance should save the Captain the trouble of doing something stupidly heroic," Schmidt went on. "And instead should turn his thoughts to doing something _selflessly _heroic_."_

Thor's eyes narrowed. A heavy, cold sense of dread sank down into his gut. Schmidt glanced down at his watch.

"You…shall be receiving this message at one o'clock in the morning, October twenty-fifth. So that gives you twelve hours." Schmidt lifted his demonic face to them again. "And this brings us to our proposition. If Captain America will turn himself in to us within the next twelve hours, all the rest of your women will be released!" Schmidt lit up as if he had just announced the winner of the Yggdrasil Games. "If Captain America appears at the Broadway ticket booth in Times Square, and surrenders himself to our agents, your women will be delivered to you at a location we will keep to ourselves until then. And here—I will show you that they are safe." He reached over and pushed a button. The screen changed—

To show a dimly-lit cement cell, a red stripe running around the top of the room, a single weak lamp hanging from the ceiling—and Sif, Jane, Marie and Pepper sitting back against the wall. Their faces were scraped and bruised, their clothes torn—and Jane's pajama pants were covered in blood. Pepper turned her head, and said something. The other women's heads turned slightly toward her. Jane began to cry.

The screen suddenly cut back to Schmidt and Doom.

"'See? Perfectly intact. One life in exchange for four," Schmidt shrugged. "You must admit that is an ideal arrangement. Besides," he held up a gloved and hand and lifted a finger. "If you comply, you and your women will be granted _conditional_ immunity. You will be allowed to live quietly wherever you wish in this realm, out of the way of our plans. But," his eyes flashed. "If you _ever _attempt to interfere in any of our future business, our contract will be broken." He paused. "Give it some thought."

He fell silent. Doom leaned slightly forward.

"Here comes the catch," Logan muttered poisonously.

"And here's my two cents," Doom said, his voice smooth and casual. "It's pretty

clear, to _me_, anyway, that the Aesir's bifrost has been rebuilt. I have no doubt my old friend Loki helped engineer it." He lifted his metal chin. "So I want the coordinates to Asgard."

Thor's whole body went numb. Loki's hand twitched in Thor's. Doom continued.

"In twelve hours, our very own Midgardian bifrost will be complete, and we'll be ready to leave on a nice little trip to the realm eternal. Loki? Loki, you listening?" Doom leaned toward them again. His voice turned to steel. "My friend Loki has half an hour to push this red button down here and verbally record the coordinates to Asgard for us. If he doesn't, his wife will be shot."

Logan and Tony glanced over their shoulders at Loki. Loki stood frozen.

"If Loki delivers the wrong coordinates…" Doom sighed. "Well, the pre-tests we conduct will uncover that fact. And then his wife will be shot." He cleared his throat. "_After_ we have the correct coordinates—because I'm pretty sure Loki won't let me down—you gentlemen must shut down the power on the entire SHIELD base. And I mean _all _of it. Not one light bulb or coffee maker can be left on. Every fifteen minutes that passes while you leave it on," he gestured to the air. "A random citizen in New York City will be sniped. If Nick Fury or any other SHIELD agent attempts to enter the base, the base will be detonated—blown straight into the sky. If anything happens to the tracking devices placed on the chests of Loki, Tony or Logan, that will also cause the SHIELD base to explode. You'll notice that I didn't mention Cap or Thor's tracking devices. My lovely assistant Natasha couldn't get close enough to the Boy Scout, but now I figure none of you will let him out of your sight." He chuckled. "And Mr. Odinson…I'm willing to bet half my fortune that you won't leave your so-called brother's side now that he's right on the edge of losing his mind."

Red Skull grinned at that remark. Doom laughed and glanced over at him. Thor felt sick.

"Anyway," Doom went on "As the twelfth hour gets closer—that'll be one o'clock in the afternoon, for you—if we still don't have Captain America, on the tenth hour, we will destroy Xavier's school. Send a cruise missile right through that place. They won't know what hit them."

Logan's hands knotted into fists.

"On the eleventh hour," the Red Skull picked up. "We will kill one of your women. At random." His eyes flashed. "Every fifteen minutes that pass before we receive Captain America, we kill another woman." He shrugged again and put his hands out to the sides. "If, after they are all dead, we _still _do not have what we want…" he leaned toward them, his gaze like ice. "It will be open war against the innocents of this land. My dear new friends, this mighty race of Skrulls, can take on the appearance of anything and anyone. And they are now equipped with Stark Industries technology, the best of _this _realm's weaponry, and Cube technology that I have been developing all my life."

"You've got twelve hours. Less than that, now," Doom noted. He pointed out at them. "Loki, I'd better hear from you soon. And I know I'll be seeing Cap before lunchtime. Ciao."

The screen turned black.

Thor's scope of vision narrowed, and his stomach turned over again as his head lightened. He pulled loose of Loki's weakened grip and stumbled down the platform steps. He found himself in the shadow of the women's wing.

Now he could smell it—the stench of blood, the burning of flesh and hair.

He could hear her screams and shouts echoing in his mind.

He closed his eyes.

A sharp pang traveled all the way through him—a pang beginning near his shoulder blade and shooting like a needle all the way through his chest to his ribs, then racing to his breastbone and penetrating his heart. And though that single place on the skin of his back stung like a whiplash, it felt strangely like…

A kiss.

"_Gah_…" Thor choked, his knees buckling beneath him as he fell forward into the wall, bracing his forearms against it. He buried his face in his hands, then ran his hands through his hair and took fistfuls of it. Static crackled in the air around him—he felt the distant sky far, far above begin to thicken and churn.

Out of the corner of his hearing, he noticed Loki speaking. Leaning toward that console, pressing down on the button, and shakily speaking the coordinates—the _correct _coordinates—to their home.

Thor's tears burned him, but his insides felt numb. He could place no blame on his brother—it had to be done.

Silence fell.

And then, darkness began to do the same.

With deep, methodical clicks, the lights in the far reaches extinguished. Until at last, the main war room plunged into blackness. The twinkling lights of the computers blinked out, like candles in the night. All that remained was the cutting blue glow of Stark's reactor as it attempted to protect his heart.

The hanging darkness was absolute—it seeped into Thor's blood. He could see nothing. So he heard, rather than saw, his brother leave the room. Stark, Logan and Steve did not know he had left—or they could not breathe enough to move.

Trembling, Thor stood away from the wall, swiped at his now-useless eyes, drew a painful breath, and stumbled through the abyss after Loki.

AAAAA

Thor found him on the roof of the empty building atop the compound. He opened the door to the night and was instantly struck by a gust of knife-like wind. He flinched back, then made himself step out onto the gravel. The city lights lit up enough for him to see the surface of the roof—and the figure of his brother standing near the edge of it, his back to him.

Black clouds rolled overhead. Lightning flashed between them.

And it began to rain.

The sky opened and poured in sheets down onto Thor's hair and shoulders, drenching his cape. He stepped forward, his muscles taut, until he arrived, breathless, at Loki's side.

Streams of water dripped from Loki's ebony locks and trailed down his ivory face and his black clothes. Thor could not tell if he was still weeping—the rain hid his tears.

For endless minutes, neither of them spoke. The storm pounded down, turning their flesh to ice.

Finally, Loki's white lips parted.

"Jane was carrying a child," he murmured, his voice calm and even.

Thor's whole being jolted. First with surprise, then panic—

Then his soul stood still.

Loki had said "was."

Thor's brother took a deep breath. His frame shuddered. And when Loki spoke, his voice carried no strength.

"It was a girl."

Thor's heart twisted and then broke in that single instant. Loki's eyebrows drew tightly together, and he turned his face and looked at his brother.

His emerald eyes pierced Thor down to his marrow. Thunder boomed, and lightning illuminated every angle and surface of Loki's stricken face.

And then Loki's shoulders caved—his left arm started up toward his chest, his head bowed, and he began to sob.

Thor could not stir. His heart had ceased to function—his mind had halted. He leaned sideways against the rail of the roof and closed his eyes as the rain cascaded down across his shoulders, letting the silence of Loki's anguish wash in waves straight through him.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	14. Chapter 14

_I answered many reviews, and I have more to answer for that last chapter—I will!—but since so many people were begging that I update soon, I thought I'd better do it before someone finds me and bumps me off, lol!_

_For the third section, I listened to the Thor soundtrack "Letting Go."_

Chapter 14

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers."  
-Edwin Markham

Thunder rolled and rumbled out near the rooftops of the city. But beneath the earth, deep inside the SHIELD compound, all was quiet. The hum of the computers and lights and machinery had been silenced. Darkness hung in every chamber, thick as black ink.

The only light emanated from Stark's reactor.

So, like ships drawn inexorably to a beacon in a storm, the other men gradually abandoned their solitary vigils in the corners of the compound, and felt their way along through the void toward that light.

Stark stood, arms folded, leaning back against the end of the war board. The first to emerge from the blackness and into the cold blue glow was Steve. Blood still coated one side of his face—his frame hollow, his eyes bleak. He stood at Stark's right shoulder, and said nothing. He glanced at the floor. Stark only briefly lifted his eyes to him, then settled back into his thoughts.

Logan appeared a few moments later, his forehead tight, his burly arms crossed. He halted next to Steve.

Several minutes later, Thor and Loki, wet to the bone, dragged into the room. Thor's boots thudded and squeaked against the tiles—water dripped to the floor. The brothers stepped near, Thor to Logan's right, and Loki to Tony's left.

They stood in a tight circle. All their shoulders touched. The soft reactor light did not reach below their waists, nor did it stretch past their heads. It illuminated their faces, chests and arms in its glow, caught the shine of the water running down the princes' hair, faces and shoulders, and turned all of their features and clothes into a contrast of pale blue and impenetrable shadow.

Long moments of deep quiet passed. They breathed in and out—it took effort. They closed their eyes, and concentrated on staying standing. Steve leaned against Tony's shoulder—Tony let him, and didn't say anything. Loki's absent gaze stared somewhere into middle space, his eyes made brilliant by the strange light, along with the tears that still listlessly trailed down with the raindrops. No one said anything about it.

Finally, Steve Rogers spoke.

"Something's got to be done."

They all blinked. They lifted their faces, turned and met his eyes. His jaw tightened.

"I'm gonna do what they want," he said. "I'll give myself up."

For a long minute, they all just watched him. Then, Tony frowned at the floor.

"You know what they'll do to you," he murmured.

Steve nodded, and took a breath.

"Yeah. I do."

"You're not serious—" Logan protested.

"This is my fault," Steve cut him off, looking at him. "I'm the one Schmidt is after. _I'm _the one who ruined all his plans during the war. He wants _me._" Steve closed his fist. "He wants revenge."

"You would sacrifice yourself," Thor raised his eyebrows at him. "You would bow to the wishes of these _murderers_, on the chance they will do as they promised."

"Yeah," Steve said again, more firmly. "It's the right thing to do."

"You forget Doom."

Loki's voice was so quiet—yet it hushed the air and pulled all their heads around. He glanced fleetingly at all of them, then met Steve's gaze.

"Doom would not go to such lengths to indulge what he would see as just a whim of Schmidt's," Loki said, his voice low and cutting. "There is far more to it than that—reasons buried deep, plans laid out for years. This coup we've just witnessed was not thought of a week ago, or even a month." Loki's eyes flashed. "It began when his agent, Natasha Romanov, entered SHIELD's employ, and it gained momentum when Schmidt appeared with an army from another realm capable of changing their physical forms to anything they wish. Doom knew then that he held the winning piece—that SHIELD could be completely infiltrated and Fury's plans undermined before they even had a chance to be laid out." Loki shook his head. "They are not just after you, and they are not just after Asgard."

"He's trying to break us up," Tony realized—grim and stunned. He looked at all of them, then at Steve. "He left us to ourselves long enough for us to get to know Steve—to realize what a good guy he is," Tony explained. "Then he does this to us, and demands that we turn him over so they can kill him." Tony's voice lowered with finality. "But they also know that, even if we get our girls back, we won't be able to look at our own faces in the mirror every day knowing that we betrayed an innocent man to a death he didn't deserve."

Steve hung his head. Logan's arms tightened.

"Not only would we be dishonored," Thor growled, his face hardening. "But their agreement had _terms._ He said we could live quietly on _this _realm," he pointed at the ground. "As long as we did not interfere. And yet _they_ plan to travel to Asgard." He glanced at Loki. "We would be forced to stand by and watch our home be destroyed."

"And we would also be tracked," Loki added. "They would make certain they always knew where we were—and where our ladies were. If we ever made a single movement to defy them…" He left it there.

"They saw us coming," Steve mused, his eyes going distant. "They saw us coming and they wanted to nip it in the bud—hobble us before we even got rolling and blackmail us into submission."

Tony canted his head.

"I kinda resent that."

"You shouldn't. It is a compliment," Loki said wearily. The corner of his mouth lifted. "They were afraid of us."

They all quieted, breathless and still, as his meaning sank in.

Then, Logan took a breath.

"They should be."

Those words hung suspended in the air.

And then, as one, all of their jaws tightened—their chests filled and their shoulders straightened—their eyes flashed and their fists closed. Electricity shivered through the air and turned every muscle taut.

"You know what, Logan?" Tony murmured. "You're right. You are absolutely right. We've actually forgotten who we are," Tony lifted his burning eyes and gazed at each one of them in turn. "_We_ are…the _powerhouses_ of each of our arenas." He stood away from the board, gestured firmly, purposefully, as he held each of their eyes. "We don't just roll over while punks and thugs like this Nazi and this freak show doctor come onto _our _turf and pull this kind of crap!" He closed his hand to a fist and shook his head. "We've _never _put up with it before, and we are _not _putting up with it now."

"You have an idea, Stark," Logan noted.

The rest of them shifted, slightly startled. Tony glanced at Logan, then raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I've got one or two." He looked at the others. "Anybody wanna hear 'em, or are we still discussing handing over the Boy Scout over to the firing squad?"

Thor and Loki exchanged glances, as did Steve and Logan. Thor cleared his throat.

"Speak."

"Okay…" Tony took a breath and rubbed his hands together. "First off—"

"Wait," Steve interrupted. They looked at him—and he shook his head and tapped his ear.

"What?" Logan asked.

Loki raised his left hand. They all frowned, and stared at him.

He began rubbing his fingers delicately together. A slow hissing sound issued—then it transformed to a breath of wind.

An invisible blanket seemed to drape down over them—behind them, rather. And above them. It quieted. Loki lowered his hand.

"What did you do?" Tony asked. His voice suddenly sounded very crisp and close and clear.

"Just because Romanov isn't watching us anymore," Steve said. "Doesn't mean she isn't listening."

Logan growled in his throat. Tony flashed his eyebrows and nodded.

"Yeah—good point. Anyway, as I was saying," he continued. "We've got until eleven o'clock this coming morning before the docs start killing hostages. Since Green Eyes gave up the coordinates—and I'm sure they were the right ones—we don't have to worry about Jane or any of the other girls until noon. Also, since we shut all our power off, the whole 'shooting random citizens' thing is off the table."

"That's assuming they're doing what they said they would," Logan pointed out.

"Yeah, well, we have to assume they're working within the framework they suggested if they expect us to do the same," Tony answered flatly. "If _they _deviate, it would be the same as if _we _deviated—made some sudden move, called in reinforcements, stuff like that. If _they_ broke the deal, we'd be free to haul off and blow them right to Mars. They do _not _want that. They do _not _want to engage us in open combat."

"You're sure?" Steve frowned. Tony gave him a look.

"Would _you _want to engage us in open combat?"

Steve just half smiled. Tony went on.

"The way I see it, we've got two problems. The first is the tracking devices. Who's got 'em?"

"They said Loki, you and Logan," Steve replied, pointing.

"And they told us why," Thor recalled. "Natasha could not get close enough to the captain, and they did not believe I would leave my brother's side."

"That's probably partly true," Tony nodded. "I think it also marks the ones they're watching most closely. They know I'm basically a flying tank, they know how well Logan can disappear in a crowd, and Loki…well, he's just an all-around slippery guy." Tony sighed. "With those things on, we can't do anything—we can't attempt a rescue, we can't spy, we can't even leave this base. We're hosed. So…" He put his hands on his hips. "We've got to do something about the tracking devices."

"What do you suggest?" Loki asked. Tony met his eyes.

"I designed them," he said. "I can replicate them."

"What for?" Steve wondered.

"These tracking devices record the pulse and the body temperature of the person they're attached to," Tony explained. "That makes it easier to track the person, and individualize your data. I can make three more just like the ones we're wearing, equip them with a data-sharing program, and if I can somehow turn them on, leave them on for just a millisecond so the data can transfer from ours to the new ones, then turn ours off—"

"You could leave the new ones behind in place of us," Loki finished. "And we could escape."

"Precisely. Exactly," Tony declared.

"Where would you get the power to make these?" Logan asked. Tony tapped his reactor—his fingernails clinked.

"This is a ridiculously powerful battery," he said. "And I have about a dozen different types of outlets that can plug into this baby. It's pretty awesome."

"Will you be able to manage turning the new ones on and the old ones off quickly enough?" Thor asked.

"Yeah, remember what they told us," Steve cut in. "If anything happens to the tracking devices, the compound will explode. And not only would _we _die, but the collapse of the building above us could destroy at least a city block."

Tony gave a sideways wince.

"Yeah, that turning off thing might…be a little tricky."

"I can do it," Loki said.

"Uh—you…You can—" Tony started. Loki paused a moment, then just nodded. Tony watched him.

"You're sure?"

"I wouldn't say so otherwise," Loki answered.

"Good." Tony gathered himself, then nodded more decisively than Loki had. "Good, okay—that's taken care of."

"What happens after we have switched?" Thor asked. "We cannot stay here—we have to leave immediately to a place where they will not look for us."

"And we'd have to do the rest of our planning there," Steve added. "We can't risk talking about it down here. Not even with this…this…thing." He gestured upward.

"Whatever we do—getting the girls back is the main focus," Logan said. "And if we happen to take out those creeps while we do it, then good for us."

"Agreed," Thor said.

"They will expect that," Loki pointed out. "It would be best to feign a head-on attack—challenge them with heavy firepower and keep them their hands utterly tied—"

"While others have entered before the heavy wave, beneath their notice," Thor finished. "Use the element of startlement to gain time, searching well and getting the women to safety."

They all nodded grimly. For a moment, they paused, thinking.

"You said we had two problems," Steve reminded Tony.

"We've got more than that," Logan muttered.

"Hey, let's try to be optimistic," Tony admonished. "The second problem is—"

"We don't know where they are," Thor said. Loki gazed downward. Steve folded his arms.

"Right," Logan muttered. "And without power, we can't track, we can't run scans—"

"We don't need to," Loki murmured.

All of them stopped.

"Wait a second," Steve put out a hand. "_You_ know where they are?"

"Before we left on the Underground, I put a tracking spell on Romanov," Loki revealed. "I'd had a strange feeling about her ever since I saw her, though I couldn't find a reason. So in the end, I decided to err on the side of caution. I imbedded the spell in her skull. The only way it will leave her is if Doom shoots her through the head." He almost smiled—and Logan grinned.

"So you can follow her—tell us where she is?" Tony clarified. Loki nodded.

"Yes—but right now, she's moving. I can tell you the instant she settles."

"What about your wife? What about the others?" Logan pressed. "Can you…sense them too, or whatever?"

Loki's eyes flickered.

"Usually, I can tell where my wife is, yes," he said slowly. "But as I said, Doom is a sorcerer, and he is muddling everything for me. I can tell that she is alive—her heart is beating." He glanced at the floor, and his voice wavered. "But the baby's is not."

Steve twitched. Logan stared at him. Thor heaved a sigh. Tony's eyes went wide.

"The b…Wait, did I hear you right?" he demanded. "Your wife was _pregnant _when Romanov…"

Loki cleared his throat, swallowed hard, and glanced another way. Tony reached up and grabbed a fistful of his own hair, turned and let out a string of low curses. Then, when he faced front again, blatant fury burned in his eyes.

"You know that name Nick wanted to give us? 'The Avengers'?" He gritted his teeth and pointed savagely. "I am _really _starting to like that name."

AAAAA

Minutes ticked by. Ticked by without a sound, without being marked—all time-keepers in the compound had been turned off. Tony sat in the near-pitch-dark at his work table, holding his tools up to the blue light of his reactor. Occasionally, metal would clink or clack against plastic, or the surface of the bench, and it echoed up and down the huge, empty room.

Three wires hung from his chest piece: one for the left hand tool, one for the automatic magnifying glass and one for the right hand tool. He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head once, then made his eyes focus again on his miniscule task.

Shuffling steps came from the door. Tony looked up—but of course all he saw was a big blue blur surrounded by darkness. He squinted.

"Um…hello?"

"I've nearly fallen down and broken my leg twice on the way here," answered Steve's tones.

"Don't do that," Tony advised, turning back to his work. "It'd be inconvenient for you to be trying to fight with a set of crutches."

"I don't know—those things can be deadly," Steve answered, drawing nearer. Tony smirked.

"Yeah, I knew a few kids in school who really knew how to use 'em."

Steve stepped up to the other side of the table and glanced over Tony's work. Tony risked a look up at him. Blood still coated one side of his face and stuck in his blonde hair—but his blue eyes were clear. Tony cleared his throat.

"Hey, um…sorry about…you know, earlier."

Steve frowned at him. Tony shrugged one shoulder.

"You know—I sorta took charge and started telling everybody what we were going to do and what we weren't going to do and…" Tony met his eyes. "That's not really my place. I mean, you're the guy with the…the shield and the rank and all that. I'm just…Well, I just…Sorry if I stepped on anybody's toes." Tony clenched his jaw and picked up his hand tool again. Steve said nothing for a long while.

"Stark," he murmured. "You wanna know how I actually got that rank?"

Tony stopped, and glanced up at him. Steve kept his gaze down.

"I was part of a show that the USO put on, to sell war bonds, and then to entertain the troops overseas." He snorted quietly. "They thought that name sounded better than 'Private America,' or 'Corporal America,' or 'Sergeant America.'"

"Yeah, 'Captain' kinda has a ring to it," Tony admitted, watching him carefully.

"Then, one time while I was over there," Steve went on. "I got word that my best friend, Bucky Barnes, was being held captive with a bunch of other fellas behind enemy lines, and they weren't going to attempt a rescue. I actually found that out about half an hour before my show. So, in my silly red white and blue costume—I think I threw a leather jacket on over it—I hitched a plane ride with your dad and parachuted down there to go save Bucky." Steve looked at Tony now, and never wavered. "See, the story Peggy told you was true. Mostly. It's been romanticized a lot. But really what happened was that I busted those guys loose…and they just fell in behind me." He shrugged. "They didn't know what was going on, and I did. So I told them what to do. And they listened. And they survived, and a handful of them became my team, my closest friends. And just because, in that moment, I knew what to do and they didn't, they looked to me for orders from that day on." He shook his head. "My rank was a fake—but to them it was real, because they'd picked me for their leader. They…They _needed _me to be their leader, in that place, that time." Steve paused, his tone softening. "The time and the place pick the leaders, Stark. Not high command, not some SHIELD agent. Look who you're dealing with here." He jabbed a thumb back at the door. "Thor and Loki are _princes_, and they've gone to battle more times than we've _blinked_ in our whole lives. And Logan doesn't take orders from _anyone_, as you've probably noticed. And I…I fought in a world war and helped take down the Nazis. But none of us were able to cope today." Steve's face grew sad. "We were paralyzed, stunned. But you weren't." Steve pointed at him. "You were thinking. And because you were, you pulled us out of that paralysis. You gave us something to fight for again. We looked at _you_." Steve drew himself up. "So I'm here if you need me. I'll follow you straight to the gates of hell if I have to. But you're steering the ship." He held out his hand.

Tony shook it, then grasped it in both of his. He almost said thank you, but that failed him, so he just nodded. And then something else entirely fell out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry about Peggy."

A soft wince crossed Steve's face. He closed his eyes briefly and took a short breath.

"So am I."

Tony let go of him, shifted in his chair, and pretended to start working again—but all at once his head felt light.

"I…I don't know how you're even…" he started. "…even functioning. I wouldn't…" He suddenly couldn't speak. He put his tools down, and fought just to draw breath.

"Hey," Steve said. Tony's head came up. Steve looked at him steadily.

"We'll get her back."

Neither said anything for a long moment. Then, Steve gave him one of his almost-smiles, and stepped around the table.

"What can I do to help you?"

"Uh…" Tony said hoarsely, then cleared his throat. "Actually, if you could hand me that clamp over there, that would be great…"

AAAAA

Thor jerked awake, his heart hammering, his skin chilled and his stomach sick. For an instant, he didn't know where he was—everything was blackness. Then he realized he was leaning back against a wall, seated on the floor.

Sif's room. He was in Sif's room. He had felt his way in here after the gathering and planning the men had done, dusted off his armor and sat in the first clear space he had found. He had just come in to smell the scent of her—and to hide his tears from everyone else. But that familiar scent, his heartache and the warmth of the room had soon lulled him into a drowsy half-slumber.

And now his tears were of an entirely different making.

He gasped desperately, his chest constricting, and he swiped at his face to clear the hot water from his eyes. He blinked quickly, trying to clear them…

And then realized that it was not entirely black, as he had thought.

A faint green light waited outside the door.

He heaved himself to his feet, stepped over a broken chair, and reached out to grasp the metal doorframe.

Across the hall, Loki sat mostly sideways in Jane's doorway, leaning back against one side of the frame. His legs were stretched out before him, his arms folded over his chest, and his brow furrowed absently. A few feet above his head, a tiny green orb of light hovered. It did not bob or weave—it stayed exactly in place, as if it were actually a little hanging lamp. Thor took a breath.

"How do you always know when I'm having a nightmare?" he asked—and his voice shook so badly he would have been ashamed if anyone else had heard it.

"Mother has always told me that, from our infancy, it has been my duty to fight off your nightmares," Loki murmured, staring off into space.

Thor stood a moment, just looking at him. Then, he crossed the hall, and sank down behind him, leaning back against the wall. And he scooted closer, reached over and wrapped his left arm around Loki, resting his elbow on Loki's left shoulder and his hand on his right.

In another time, Loki might have pushed him away and demanded to know what was wrong with him. Now, as he had when they were very little, Loki just wearily shifted, so that he could lean back against the side of his brother's chest—and some of the tension released from his frame.

For several minutes, neither of them spoke. This ritual was familiar to them as breathing—for though no one else but their family knew it, Thor had always been prone to vivid and terrifying nightmares. But Loki had always been there to wake him up, with that singular green light outside his door. And he always waited to hear Thor tell what had been troubling him.

"I had a dream about Sif. And Jane and Marie and Pepper," Thor began, very quietly. "I saw them as they were taken—I watched as they were imprisoned." He stopped, and it took a long time for him to begin again. "We tried to save them. But a great power fought us at every turn. We failed. They died."

Thor sensed Loki's breathing accelerate—Thor tightened his arm around him.

"But that part faded soon," he said. "Because you…_you_ went mad with pain." Thor's brow twisted. "You decided you wanted vengeance upon all the people of Midgard. You conquered the Skrulls, you brought down the Kree on this whole realm, and began destroying everything. You killed Doom and Schmidt—and then somehow, you killed Logan." Thor stared at the opposite wall, the brilliant images from his nightmare rising up before him. "I pleaded with you, but you would not listen. Even Father came, but you…Nothing would change your mind. We knew we had to stop you. All of us." Thor swallowed. "We gathered more warriors, and even joined with our enemies. This city was almost destroyed. Then…Then, we destroyed a building with you inside it." Thor closed his eyes. His breathing had become so ragged he could not go on. He swallowed over and over, but when he tried to speak again, one tear fell down his face.

"I found you laying there under a piece of stone. And I wanted to lift it from you but you said..." A great shiver ran through Thor's frame, and he could not go on.

Loki's hand came up and clasped his. And, to Thor's surprise—it was warm.

"That makes for a good nightmare," Loki mused. "But it has one flaw."

Thor frowned, and brushed at his eyes again. Loki let go of him—and the next moment, Thor heard a soft jingle as Loki took hold of the Mjollnir necklace Thor had given him so long ago.

"What do you mean?" Thor wondered. Loki shook his head and took a deep breath.

"You would _never _let me get away with all that."

Thor laughed—the sound hurt his chest and felt broken and weak. But the green light seemed to grow stronger, and the shadows retreated.

Thor sighed, and leaned his head back against the wall. He sobered, and his voice quieted as he determined to say it—no matter how odd the words felt.

"I love you, my brother."

For a moment, Loki was silent. At last, Thor felt him draw breath.

"That," he whispered gravely. "Is what I mean."

_To be continued…_

_REVIEW!_


	15. Chapter 15

_Thanks for all of your utterly delightful reviews! I treasure all of them! :D _

_-For the first two sections, I listened to the Tron soundrack, track 1._

_-For the second section, I first listened to (on youtube) one entitled "Magnificent russian orthodox song, immediately followed by the Captain America Soundtrack "This Is My Choice." _

_-The story Sif tells is a portion of "Beowulf."_

_Enjoy!_

_VVVV_

Chapter 15

"Gentlemen,

We must all hang together,

Or assuredly we shall all hang separately."

-Benjamin Franklin

VVV

_OCTOBER 25__th_

_10:05 a.m._

_55 minutes remaining until destruction of Xavier's School_

"That's them?" Logan muttered. Tony heaved a great sigh and nodded, holding the three small black devices out in the palm of his right hand.

"Yep. Green Eyes, Claws, and me," he said, pointing to each one.

All five men stood near the main door of the compound—it was closed, but needed only the press of a single button to slide open. Thick darkness still dominated every room, so they gathered tightly around the glow of Tony's reactor, their arms folded in thought. Loki's silencing spell once more surrounded them—they felt as if they stood inside a very small tent.

"Those look a lot bigger than the ones we have on," Logan noted, pulling down the front of his shirt to show them all a flat, black square the size of a dime stuck to the skin on his chest.

"Yeah, well, these are attached to something," Tony said, picking one up between his forefinger and thumb. "They're on top of little hovercraft—they'll putter around the rooms here and simulate the movements we'd be making if they were still on us."

"What about the heartbeat and the electrical signature?" Steve asked.

"That's where Mr. Loki comes in," Tony gestured to him—he stood just to his left. "They have to be on at the _same time _for about the space it takes to blink. The information that the old trackers have been gathering about your vitals will be transferred to the new ones during that time—and then they'll start to _replicate _your heartbeat and electrical signatures and all that, so it'll look like it's still you."

"And all six of them must be done at once," Loki said.

"Um, yeah, pretty much," Tony nodded. "Otherwise the docs might see what's going on and blow us up."

"They might blow us up as it is," Logan observed. Tony sighed tightly.

"Yeah, well, there's no other way to do this."

"Are we ready, then?" Thor asked, glancing around. "We are running out of time."

"Loki has everything we might need packed up?" Logan raised his eyebrows at him.

"I do," Loki answered.

"Okay then," Steve said.

"Yeah, okay," Tony said, shifting, then swallowing.

"Tony," Steve frowned at him. "Are you all right?"

"Sure," Tony said too quickly. "I just didn't get any sleep _at all_ tonight."

"I didn't either," Loki muttered, his eyes starting to unfocus as his brow furrowed.

"Great—the two guys we're counting on are dead on their feet," Logan commented.

"No pun intended of course," Tony shot back. Logan snorted.

"Look, if it doesn't work, I'm sure it'll be quick and painless," Tony said, shrugging. "We'll hear a loud noise, and then we'll wake up and have to explain to Jesus what the heck we were just doing."

"We'll have a good excuse as to why we're a little early," Steve said quietly, gazing at the devices.

"You ever wonder about that?" Tony asked, canting his head. "Like…what you're going to say when you walk up to the pearly gates? Like somebody at the door asks you, 'So what did you do with your last ten minutes of life?' Wouldn't it be crappy if you had to say something like, 'Uh, I was so drunk, I don't remember.' Or 'My friend told me to put one inner tube on top of the other and slide down the mountain that way—"

"Shut. Up," Loki hissed.

"Okay, sorry. Go for it," Tony urged, holding the new devices out to the center of their circle. Loki took a deep breath, and let it out through his mouth, then closed his eyes.

Nobody moved.

Every man held his breath.

They all stared, frozen, at those three devices in Tony's hand.

Then, all at once, the devices lifted off, and began floating through the air.

They hummed past them, and back up the hall.

The men waited a second longer.

The darkness remained. The silence hung.

Tony's reactor still burned.

Loki let out a short gasp, and opened his eyes.

"Did it work?" Logan breathed.

Loki nodded.

That was all the cue they needed.

"Okay, let's go," Steve whispered.

The silencing shield dropped. Tony stepped toward the door, and pressed the button.

The door hissed open.

The five men darted outside, into the ink-black tunnel.

The door slid shut behind them.

They had escaped the SHIELD compound—and it was still intact.

And now, guided by the faint, blue glow, they hurried as swiftly and silently as they could up the cement tunnel and toward the surface.

AAAAA

Jane stared at the wall. One light, far above, lit it with a dim, flickering illumination. The floor was cement. It was cold. She was cold—she was wet. Her legs were covered in blood, her pants soaked.

Pepper sat to her left. Jane thought she felt Pepper's arm around her shoulders. Marie stood somewhere off to the right, in the corner. Sif paced back and forth, back and forth, in front of the metal door. Her boots tapped on the hard, moist surface. Jane didn't focus on anything. Her whole body ached. Her mind had gone numb.

For countless hours, they had sat—or paced—in silence. None of them had spoken. Except Pepper, once, when she asked if they were all alive. Nobody had answered that question.

Haze had replaced any coherent thought in Jane's mind. Every sensation seemed dull, and words had lost their meaning. All she could see was blood.

And Natasha Romanov's face.

Sif stopped walking. She faced them, and folded her arms.

"All right," she said—her tone almost cut through Jane's flesh. "What happened?"

"What…What do you mean?" Pepper asked, her hands moving against Jane's shoulders. Sif's black eyes flashed.

"There has been enough silence, enough sitting," she declared. "What happened back at the compound?"

"We all know what happened—" Marie started.

"Do we?" Sif cut in. "I do not think we do."

"I agree," Pepper said. "I…don't think I understand any of this. What were those things?"

"The creatures that attacked us?" Sif spat. "They were Skrulls. Shape-shifters from another realm." Sif turned and kicked her toe against the doorframe. It rang dully. "They were there all along—all those who called themselves SHIELD were Skrulls in disguise. Except Fury and Coulson."

"What about Natasha?" Marie asked quietly. Sif shook her head and scowled.

"No. If she were, she would have transformed before us. She is a traitor."

For a long moment, silence stretched—and Jane tensed. She felt something enter the air—an unspoken question…

"Where's Peggy?" Marie wondered. Sif and Marie looked at Pepper. Jane felt Pepper shiver.

"She…She, uh…" Pepper began. "Natasha…"

"Natasha killed her," Sif finished—Jane looked up in time to see her eyes flicker. Pepper only nodded.

Marie quietly whimpered, and hid her face with one hand.

Sif stood away from the wall, and straightened. She glanced up, and around the room. She frowned.

"Where are we?"

"Underground, I think," Pepper managed, bracing herself. "A big place."

"How can you tell?" Marie wondered tearfully. "We were blindfolded."

"I could hear the echoes of their boots in the hall," Pepper said. "There are _lots _of halls—long ones. All with hard surfaces."

"And how did we get here?" Sif asked.

"The SHIELD Underground," Marie said, a little more firmly. "I think, anyway. I mean, they dragged us that direction before they put the blindfolds on."

"And it was pointed south west," Pepper continued. "And we didn't turn around. I don't think we even turned at all."

"How long were we on it?" Marie questioned.

"It seemed like about twenty minutes, maybe," Pepper mused. She lifted her head. "We must be somewhere down by Wall Street, or Ground Zero."

Sif hesitated.

"How is Jane?"

"I've been trying to talk to her," Pepper said, quieter, in Jane's left ear. "She hasn't said anything—or even looked like she heard me."

"She's lost the child," Sif said. "Romanov hit her and she lost it. I would bet everything I owned that that woman knew she was with child." Sif stepped closer and knelt down in front of Jane. She looked straight into her eyes.

"Jane," Sif said, her gaze never faltering. "I know you can hear me. And you must listen to me now, for I want to know something." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you a woman of the Aesir, or are you a weakling who can't even stand up on her own?"

Jane blinked.

"Sif!" Pepper cried.

"Leave her alone!" Marie objected. Sif ignored them. She pressed closer to Jane.

"Do you hear me, little girl?" she demanded. "Your child has been _slaughtered_ and the one who did it still lives. Are you going to rise up and prepare yourself to take vengeance upon her, or are you just going to sit here like an invalid, expecting comfort and _pity?"_

Jane lashed out at Sif's face.

Sif caught her wrist.

Jane's whole body flooded with heat, and she snapped back into full, bright, clear awareness—and _fury_. She twitched against Sif's hold, her jaw clenching, her eyes flashing. But Sif's hand was like iron.

And Sif grinned.

"_There_," she said. "_That _is a princess of Asgard."

Sif got to her feet.

"Now get up."

The command jarred Jane. She lifted her face to Sif, her eyebrows coming together.

"You are being cruel," Pepper rebuked, getting up. Sif turned to her.

"How many battles have you fought, Potts?" Sif demanded.

"None—"

"And how many times have you been captured, beaten and starved by an enemy?"

"None, but—"

"Then you will listen to _me_," Sif answered. She glanced over at Marie. "I will not make you feel warm and safe—that is impossible here. So instead, I will keep you _alive_." She looked back down at Jane. "I said…_get up_."

Jane stared at her, all kinds of hurt darting around in her chest. Sif just waited, a sneer on her face and a challenge in her eyes.

Jane got up. Her whole body ached and trembled, her gut felt as if a knife had gone through it, but she was _not _going to show that to Sif. She put her bare feet down on the ice cold floor and straightened. And she looked her right in the eye.

Sif nodded.

"Very well." And she unstrapped her belt, tossed it down, and began unlacing her corset. She turned her head toward Marie. "What are you wearing?"

Marie frowned.

"Uh…"

"Name your garments," Sif clarified.

"Um, boots, socks, jeans, shirt, jacket…underwear," Marie answered.

"All right," Sif said. "Take off your socks and your shirt. We need them." Sif pulled her corset off and laid it down on the floor as Marie hesitatingly unzipped her jacket. Sif then pulled off her boots, set them aside, and pulled off her trousers. Underneath those trousers, she wore a second set, much tighter, and black. Then, she peeled off the long shirt that came all the way down to her knees and wrists. Beneath it, she wore a form-fitting chain mail shirt over a short-sleeved white undershirt. She also peeled off her knee-high stockings. All these discarded clothes she folded and set off to the side, and she rammed her boots back on. Then, she stepped forward and stripped off Jane's pajama pants. She did it so quickly Jane didn't track the movement.

"Step out of these," Sif ordered. Mutely, Jane did so. Sif pulled them away, then briskly wiped Jane's legs with the clean portions. Then, she tossed the ruined cloth into the corner. She snatched up her discarded pair of pants and instructed Jane into them. The thick fabric slid up around to Jane's middle and Sif tied them in place. Immediately, warmth tingled through her.

"Marie, give Jane your shirt," Sif told her. "Then put your jacket back on. Jane has a thin night-garment on and no support."

"Here, Jane," Marie said quickly, understanding now. Jane tried to pull the long-sleeved black shirt over her head, but her arms were too weak—Pepper instantly stepped up and helped tug it down over her head and arms. Absently, Jane got the feeling of being dressed as a little girl by her mother and her aunt…

"Give me your foot," Sif said. Jane lifted her right foot, and Sif shoved the long stocking onto one leg. Then she did the same to the other. That wave of warmth washed through Jane again, and her vision cleared further.

"All right, Pepper," Sif said, holding her hand out to Marie. "You get Marie's stockings."

Marie handed them over, then bent to put her shoes back on. Pepper took the socks, then pulled them on over her bare feet. Sif turned and picked up her own long shirt and gave it to Pepper—Pepper put it on over her nightgown and settled it around her shoulders. Sif opened up her corset and pulled loose a small pouch from inside. Then, she stood up.

"This, too," Sif said to Pepper, and held the corset out to her. Pepper stared at it.

"I…I don't…" Pepper stammered. Sif stepped up, wrapped it around Pepper, then synched it crisply, at the exact tightness to keep it secure without constricting. Then, Sif knelt down, grabbed Pepper's skirt and tore it. Pepper gasped, but stayed still. Sif ripped strands into both sides of the skirt, then tied them together between Pepper's legs. She then took up her belt from the floor and swiftly tied the buckle to the lower front of the corset. Then, she pulled the belt between Pepper's legs so it loosely held up the skirt, and secured the other end of the belt to the lower back of the corset. It now looked like Pepper wore very loose trousers, the outsides of which came down to below her knee, and the insides of which hung just down to above her knee.

"All right," Sif said, letting out a short breath and putting her hands on her hips. "Jane has a wound on her head, and so does Marie. Pepper?"

"Just a bump," Pepper winced, feeling the back of her head.

"All right, sit down," Sif commanded. The three sat down in a row, cross-legged. Jane felt warmer, now—more awake. Sif opened the pouch and pulled out a small silver vial. She crouched in front of Marie, brushed her hair out of her face and found the two-inch cut at her hairline. She flipped open the vial and let one drop of sparkling liquid fall down onto the cut. Marie winced and flinched away.

"Yes, it hurts," Sif growled. "But it heals quickly." She moved to Jane, and applied two drops to the laceration on her forehead. It stung wickedly, and Jane squeezed her eyes shut—but she did not pull back.

"We have been taken for a reason," Sif said. She flipped the lid back down onto the vial and put it away, then drew out a roll of twine from the pouch. She came around and sat down behind Pepper, set the twine down and began combing her fingers through Pepper's long red hair.

"What are you saying?" Pepper asked. "Their mission was fake—it was a trap?"

"For us," Marie realized. "They were trying to lure the guys away so they could get to _us_."

Sif nodded. Prickles of unease began traveling over Jane's skin.

"They want something from our men," Sif said. "And they are going to use us as leverage." Sif took a portion of hair from the left side of Pepper's head, and braided it three times. Then, she began grasping larger portions of the rest of Pepper's hair, pulling them away from her face, drawing them together and fashioning what Jane recognized as a Dutch braid, carrying the braid cleanly across the back of Pepper's head toward her right shoulder.

"What would they want?" Marie wondered.

"Doom wants Asgard," Jane whispered. And that was all she could manage.

"And Schmidt fought against Steve, and lost," Pepper added quietly.

Sif's hands slowed. Her head lowered for a moment, her brow furrowing. Then, she sat up, and began to work again. She held the end of Pepper's braid, then bit off a piece of twine and tied the braid's end. Then, she scooted down and sat behind Jane, reached up and raked her hands through her hair, then crisply pulled and tugged her tresses into the same type of braid.

"That may be what they want," Sif said. "We must be patient, and find out the truth. And when we do, we must do all we can to ruin their plans." Sif's fingers worked strongly, sweeping through Jane's hair, binding it back. "I am going to tell you something my mother told me," Sif went on. "A woman who loves a warrior cannot just wait to be rescued, pining away in the dust, longing for her protector. She must learn how to defend herself, her children—she must be a gallant shield at the side of her warrior, not his weakness." She tied off Jane's braid. "And we will not be their weakness. We will be their strength."

Jane swallowed hard. A tear ran down her face, but she didn't feel it. Sif shifted down, and began on Marie's very long hair. And as she did, she lowered her voice, and began chanting a strange, old song. It carried a small tune, a steady rhythm. And Jane closed her eyes and listened, lost in the words.

"_Then __from the moorland, by misty crags,  
with God's wrath laden, Grendel came.  
The monster was minded of mankind now  
sundry to seize in the stately house_." Sif began.  
"_Under welkin he walked, till the wine-palace there,  
gold-hall of men, he gladly discerned,  
flashing with fretwork. Not first time, this,  
that he the home of Hrothgar sought, -  
yet ne'er in his life-day, late or early,  
such hardy heroes, such hall-thanes, found!"_

Sif kept braiding, her voice gaining animation and strength.

"_To the house the warrior walked apace,  
parted from peace; the portal opended,  
though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had struck it,  
and baleful he burst in his blatant rage,  
the house's mouth. All hastily, then,  
o'er fair-paved floor the fiend trod on,  
ireful he strode; there streamed from his eyes  
fearful flashes, like flame to see.  
He spied in hall the hero-band,  
kin and clansmen clustered asleep,  
hardy liegemen. Then laughed his heart;  
for the monster was minded, ere morn should dawn,  
savage, to sever the soul of each,  
life from body, since lusty banquet  
waited his will! But Wyrd forbade him  
to seize any more of men on earth  
after that evening. Eagerly watched  
Hygelac's kinsman his cursed foe,  
how he would fare in fell attack.  
Not that the monster was minded to pause!  
Straightway he seized a sleeping warrior  
for the first, and tore him fiercely asunder,  
the bone-frame bit, drank blood in streams,  
swallowed him piecemeal: swiftly thus  
the lifeless corse was clear devoured,  
e'en feet and hands."_

Next to Jane, Pepper shuddered. But when Jane glanced back at Sif, a cold smile marked her face. She kept braiding, tight and even.

"_Then farther he hied;  
for the hardy _hero_ with hand he grasped,  
felt for the foe with fiendish claw,  
for the _hero _reclining, - who clutched it boldly,  
prompt to answer, propped on his arm._"

Sif finished the braid, then rose up, and came around the other women, gazing off.

"_Soon then saw that shepherd-of-evils  
that never he met in this middle-world,  
in the ways of earth, another wight  
with heavier hand-gripe; at heart he feared,  
sorrowed in soul, - none the sooner escaped!"_

Sif looked down at them. One by one, she met each of their eyes. Her expression grew fierce. She shook her head._  
_

"_Fain would he flee, his fastness seek,  
the den of devils: no doings now  
such as oft he had done in days of old!"_

AAAAA

_10:15_

_45 minutes until the destruction of Xavier's school_

The five men paused in front of the vast, looming, two-towered, intricately-carved pale-stone building, whose every arch and decoration seemed to reach upward. Steve had suggested this place. No one had objected.

Thor had shed his armor and now wore a red shirt, black trousers and boots—Loki wore his suit and long black coat. Steve had donned jeans, a shirt and jacket, as had Tony. Logan had seen no need to change.

Steve stepped forward, and pushed open the doors. The other four followed, leaving the light and bustle of the city behind them…

And entering into complete, vast silence.

Loki and Thor slowed to a halt. Their expressions changed, opened—and Loki took a deep breath.

Tony and Logan charged right on in—then their footsteps stalled, and they stopped right where they were. Steve stayed beside the others. And they all gazed _up_.

A magnificent, cavernous space opened before them. Great carved pillars, joined by elegant arches, lined both sides and led in two unbroken lines all the way down to the great door at the far end. And up, up into the shadows the ceiling stretched, its lines curving and crisscrossing in perfect lines and flawless patterns. And ahead of them, set into the stone above the grand door, stood a window—a broad, many-paned, circular window of glittering blue, red and green glass, illuminated by the outside sun.

Slowly, the men walked forward, their feet tapping on the decorated marble flooring, down the aisle between the countless empty wooden pews. Glowing, iron-wrought lamps hung by chains from that limitless ceiling, and more light seeped in through the two rows of tall, narrow widows they glimpsed between the side pillars. Loki pulled near to Thor, and together they whispered about the pictures of men, women, animals and winged beings portrayed on the glowing glass. They nodded to each other, their quiet words lost in a hush of echoes.

Logan and Tony became very subdued, their gazes lingering on each window, brows furrowed. Steve walked straight ahead, toward the altar, deliberate and slow.

Gradually, he led them aside, out of the bright center, and off near a shadowed corner where a broad pedestal, blocked by low rails, upheld a white marble statue—a statue of a robed, hooded woman seated, bracing the limp body of a young man with her knees—he laid back against her legs, his own legs bent on the ground, his head tilted toward her—her hand pressed against his cheek. His right arm hung down, and his left lay across her lap and bent back toward his face. He bore wounds on his feet, his hands and his side.

All five men stood studying it for a moment, captivated and grave. Then, Loki shifted an inch.

"I cannot believe this place is on Midgard," he murmured. Logan glanced at him.

"We can do a lot when we've got inspiration."

Loki watched him for a moment, then nodded once—almost inclined his head.

"Speaking of inspiration," Tony said, turning quietly to them. "Shall we find some of our own?"

They gathered closer. Steve, Tony and Logan sat on the rail in front of the statue, Loki leaned sideways against a pillar and folded his arms, and Thor stood just beside him.

In the quiet magnificence of the room, they spoke in low, measured tones. They never interrupted each other—they watched each other's faces, listened to every lift and fall of each other's voices. Carefully, they planned every step, considered every angle, warded off every pitfall that they could.

At long last, they all agreed, and understood. Grim, settled feelings sank down through each of them—accompanied by an unease they all tried to bury. Tony handed out new earpieces to each of them, and they took them wordlessly, bowing their heads.

Steve clasped his hands in his lap, rubbing his thumbs back and forth against each other.

"You know what today is," he murmured. They glanced at him. He lifted his face, and looked at Logan. "It's St. Crispin's day."

"You're Catholic?" Logan wondered. Steve shook his head.

"No, I just always remember that from history," he said. "October 25th. It was the battle of Agincourt, the Charge of the Light Brigade, and the middle of the battle of Leyte Gulf. And there's the speech, too."

They all waited, brows furrowed. Steve looked at all of them, frowning.

"You…You know, the Shakespeare speech," he clarified. Logan shook his head. Loki and Thor watched Steve intently.

"What is it?" Tony asked. Steve's eyebrows went up.

"I…You want me to say it?"

"Is it good?"

"Yes."

"Then yeah," Tony nodded, crossing his arms. "We've got a few minutes."

"Um, okay," Steve cleared his throat. "I haven't had to recite it since high school though, so…" He paused, took another breath, then started.

"_This day is called the feast of Crispian:  
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,  
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,  
And rouse him at the name of Crispian."_

Steve took a deep breath, and lifted his chin._  
"He that shall live this day, and see old age,  
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,  
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'  
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.  
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'"_

Steve's eyes grew distant. Loki closed his. Thor rested his hand on Mjollnir._  
"Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,  
But he'll remember with advantages  
What feats he did that day: then shall our names,  
Familiar in his mouth as household words  
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,  
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,  
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd."_

Steve stood up, off the rail, and straightened his shoulders._  
"This story shall the good man teach his son;  
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,  
From this day to the ending of the world,  
But we in it shall be remember'd."_

His pure, blue gaze softened, and fell upon each of them in turn._  
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me  
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,  
This day shall gentle his condition."_

His voice turned hard, firm—fervent. _  
"And gentlemen in England now a-bed  
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,  
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks  
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."_

No one spoke for a moment. But they had all drawn themselves up to their full heights, their jaws had tightened, and their eyes blazed.

Tony drew in a deep, steady breath, and nodded.

"Okay," he declared. "Let's roll."

_To be continued…_

_REVIEW!_

_Oh, and, all of you—head on over right now to http:/ stolenrelic dot wordpress dot com and go to the gallery to see a TOTALLY AWESOME banner for Brother Avengers, and a couple TOTALLY AWESOME posters! (among other totally awesome stuff…)_


	16. Chapter 16

_Hello! You guys are going to LOVE this one!_

_For the first section, you can listen to any track from the Tron soundtrack you want._

_For the SECOND section, I listened to the Tron Soundtrack: "Rectifier," immediately followed by the Batman Begins Main Theme to finish out the chapter. Get those all queued up, now—you ought to be making a playlist, lol. _

_Enjoy!_

_VVVVV _

Chapter 16

"_But the Lord laughs at the wicked,_

_For He knows their day is coming."_

_-Psalm 37:13_

10:55 am

_5 minutes until the destruction of Xavier's School_

Steve Rogers stood by the red ticket booth, gazing back at the place where he had come from. Together, he and the other men had left St. Patrick's Cathedral, walked down Fifth Avenue, then parted ways at East 42nd Street. The others had turned left and gone toward Grand Central Station. Steve had turned right, traveled three blocks and halted in the center of Times Square.

Now, he stayed silent, ignoring the chaos and cacophony that rushed and bustled and hurried and flashed all around him. Many people glanced him up and down as they passed, taking in his blue, white and red uniform—he was not wearing his helmet. He did not meet anyone's eyes. He clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin, waiting.

"Captain America."

The words barked in his right ear. Steve's eyes narrowed, and he turned his head.

Two men in black suits and ties stood there in the shade of the booth. They both had blonde hair, and the one who had spoken had an abrasive accent. They watched him with cool gray eyes.

"If you'd be so kind as to come with us," the second man said. He had an accent as well.

"Call off the attack on Xavier's school," Steve answered, staying absolutely still. "And I'll come with you."

They both sneered, and glanced at each other. Steve waited. The first man chuckled, then reached in his pocket and pulled out a telephone. He flipped it open, pressed a button, and put it to his ear.

"Sir," he said. "We have him. Yes, he is alone. He wants us to call off the attack on Xavier's school." The man paused. Then, he held the phone out to Steve. "He wants to hear your voice."

Steve took the phone and put it to his own ear.

"I'm here," he said.

"_Ah, Captain!"_ Schmidt crowed. "_It's you after all! Good—I cannot wait to see you in person once more. That will be soon, yes?"_

"Only if you call off your missile," Steve said.

"_Of course, of course—there, I just pressed the button,_" Schmidt assured him. _"It is deactivated. And as long as you give my men no trouble, it will stay that way."_

"What happens now?" Steve wanted to know.

"_We're going to have a little reunion, you and I_," Schmidt said. _"And swap old war stories."_

"What about the women?" Steve demanded. "You said you would release them."

"_All in good time," _Schmidt chuckled. _"See you in about an hour."_

Steve shut the phone and handed it back to the first man. He took it, still smiling.

"This way," he gestured. Steve's jaw tightened, but he fell in behind the second man, feeling the first one follow him, and the three of them stepped out into the noisy masses.

They marched wordlessly down one block, then came to a shining black car. The man in front of Steve stepped forward and opened the back door. He got in, and slid into the dark interior. Steve took a breath, bent down, and slipped in after. He sat down in the middle of the gray seat. The other man followed him in. He pulled the door shut. It slammed.

The next instant, Steve felt a gun press into his left side and a gun press into his right.

"Drive," the first man ordered. The engine revved, they pulled out into traffic, and headed south.

AAAAA

_**12 noon**_

_1 hour before Midgard Bifrost activation_

Finally, Steve climbed out of the black car and into the open air. He winced—his back had cramped from sitting so still for so long as the car wove through the maze of other honking, screeching vehicles. He glanced up as the autumn wind gusted through his hair.

A gray, angular building towered before him, its heights slicing the blue sky. It looked hollow, most of its windows dark.

A gun clicked behind him, then rammed into his back.

Then, he felt some sort of plastic bindings snap around his wrists and tie his arms behind him. A rough hand synched them too tight.

"Walk," one of the guards commanded. Steve stepped up the curb, hearing both men follow. Their shoes scraped on the pavement.

They crossed the sidewalk and passed under the metal overhang. The sunlight cut out.

One of the men reached around Steve and flashed a card in front of a sensor. The glass doors slid open. They passed through, into a short-ceilinged, white tiled entryway. Now their footsteps echoed.

In moments, they had passed through the entryway and into a small elevator. Steve turned around and watched the doors slide shut. One of the guards punched a button—number 53. The elevator groaned, and began its rapid ascent.

Steve took measured breaths. He watched the door.

A light came on.

_Ding._

The doors slid open.

A long, dark hall waited. And at the end of it, Steve could see a large, white open room.

One of the men slapped the back of his head, jarring him.

"Go."

Steve gritted his teeth and stepped out. His boots clanged softly on the metal flooring. They strode on for several meters, passing several doors. At last, they reached the end. A glass door hissed open.

The guards pushed Steve through, then shoved him. He lost his balance and tumbled onto his knees. He got his feet under him.

One of the men cracked him over the head. The gun thudded against his skull. He grimaced.

"Stay down," the guard snapped.

Steve obeyed. But he lifted his head and tried to clear his eyes.

The south, east and west walls of this large room were windows, floor to ceiling, providing a spectacular view of the jagged skyline of the city, and the glittering water beyond. The floor and ceiling were completely white, as were the smooth-surfaced computer consoles that stood in circular patterns throughout the space, their screens blinking and flashing.

And at each of these consoles sat one of those creatures the men had watched on the recording—clad in sharp, scaly clothing, their green skin glinting in the harsh overhead light. They turned their snarling, sharp-toothed faces toward him, their large eyes gleaming. They hissed when they saw him, cocked their heads, and muttered under their breath.

Skrulls.

Several more of those monsters lined the perimeter of the room, long guns hanging from their belts, glowing staffs grasped in their clawed hands. They stayed motionless, watching.

Steve caught all of this peripherally. He focused everything else on the two men who stood across the room, exactly opposite him.

A tall, metal-faced man in a sweeping black cloak and hood.

And a demon-skinned soldier beside him, wearing a dark uniform devoid of all insignia except a silver octopus pin on the left side of his chest.

For a moment, they stood like wraiths, shadows.

Then, the Red Skull's lips parted, and he gave a brilliant, pleased grin. His eyes flashed.

"Well, here he is, Herr Schmidt," Dr. Victor Von Doom gestured to Steve. "That was easy."

"Indeed, it was," Schmidt remarked.

"He's all yours," Doom said, turning away toward what appeared to be the main computer console. "Go ahead—have fun. I'll finish up here."

"Thank you, Doctor," Schmidt inclined his head to him, then started toward Steve. His heavy boots vibrated the floor. His smile faded as a line of concentration appeared just above the hole that ought to have been his nose. He gazed intently down at Steve.

"He is correct, you know," Schmidt murmured. "It was quite easy."

Steve straightened his shoulders and met Schmidt's gaze.

"All right, you've got me," he said. "Now let the girls go."

Schmidt gave him a slight smirk. And he shook his head.

"I'm afraid it is true after all," he mused. "Some men in this world are kings. And others…" He pulled off his heavy leather glove. "Only pawns." He slapped Steve in the face with it.

The leather lashed his cheek. Steve flinched, squeezing his right eye shut, then straightened and glared up at Schmidt through watering eyes.

"We had a deal," Steve reminded him. "You get me, you let the girls go."

"Oh, I am so disappointed in you, Captain," Schmidt sighed. "Listen to yourself. Despite all your physical prowess, despite all of your dear doctor friend's hopes for you, you are still just a pawn." He slapped Steve with the glove again, hard, on the other side of his face. Steve gritted his teeth as the blow stung across his skin.

"Fragile, weak—like the rest of your ignorant country," Schmidt snarled, throwing his glove down and towering over Steve. "Unwilling to learn the way of true power, unwilling to _eliminate _all those who cause _weakness—"_ He struck Steve with his fist. Steve reeled backward, fighting to keep his balance. His vision flickered.

"Unwilling to eliminate those who cause _deformity_," Schmidt hit him again. "Who waste and hoard resources—who _get in your way_." He struck Steve once more. Blood flew. Steve crashed onto his left side, his mouth filling with blood. He struggled to get up off the cold floor, but his head spun, and his arms stayed tied up behind him.

Schmidt bent down, lunged out and grabbed Steve by his collar and jerked him back onto his knees. He bared his teeth right in Steve's face, and shook him.

"See? Instead of fighting, you are kneeling before me, begging for the lives of four worthless women—completely at the mercy of one you thought you had defeated long ago." His voice quieted as his gaze burned into Steve's. "But you failed, American. You only made me stronger."

Steve said nothing. He swallowed the blood in his mouth. It soured his stomach. Schmidt's scarlet brow furrowed.

"I am actually disappointed, Captain," he admitted. "I had hoped for some creativity, some slight resistance, some vain but valiant attempt to save the damsels in distress." He sighed again, and shook his head once. "But despite my hopes, I know you too well, Steve Rogers." He let Steve go, and stood up, rubbing his knuckles and studying Steve as if he were a vial of chemicals. "For all your strength, you are predictable. You are a clear-thinking, honest man—a simple soldier." He smiled ruefully. "I should have known better."

Steve took a breath.

"Actually…" he said—and Schmidt blinked. His voice sounded completely different—low and smooth and icy…

Steve lifted an eyebrow in a calculated, amused fashion…

And he gave Schmidt an eerie, confident, snake-like sneer.

"You don't know me at all."

And in that instant, Steve's gray-blue eyes flooded with gleaming emerald.

Schmidt took a step back.

The sky outside went dark.

And then…

_BOOM._

Thunder shook the entire building from its head to its foundation, deafening every ear and shuddering every bone.

The lights blew out.

All the windows shattered.

Glass sprayed inward, singing and shrieking as it spilled into the room.

Hurricane-force wind gusted through, billowing through Doom's cape and battering Schmidt and the Skrulls and the two guards.

Freakish green flames enveloped Steve's whole body, shooting up to the ceiling, writhing and swirling around him, lifting him up off his knees.

Schmidt and Doom backed up, raising their hands up to shield their faces.

But the guards had been standing too close. They perished in a flash of burning chaos.

The Skrulls leaped up from their seats and scrambled for their weapons.

Screeching, they swarmed around the billowing, glowing pillar, forming as tight a circle as they dared, aiming their guns at it.

The green fire subsided, trailing down the figure's head, licking his shoulders and flickering against his chest…

Revealing long, wild, raven hair, a white, narrow countenance and smoldering, gem-like eyes.

The flames withdrew further, unfolding to display his blade-like form, clad in silvery-gold armor, embroidered cloth and leather.

Doom crowed in delight.

"Now _that _is more like it!"

The flames simmered down to dance around the new man's feet and ankles, casting nightmarish light and shadow across his whole figure. Doom strode forward and stood beside a startled Schmidt.

"Loki, my friend!" Doom cried. "It was you the whole time?"

Loki said nothing—just smiled.

"What—I don't understand…" Schmidt stammered, staring at him.

"It was a disguise—a brilliant disguise," Doom praised. "I am impressed. Truly, I am. I don't know why I ever doubted you."

"I'm flattered," Loki answered, his voice like velvet. "But let us dispense with the pleasantries, shall we?" His smile faded to nothing, and he pinned Doom with a severe glance. "I am here for those you have captured. Give them to me now, and I will _consider_…" he looked at Schmidt. "Killing you quickly."

Doom laughed.

"This all seems oddly familiar to me," he remarked, shaking his head and folding his arms. "I think we've had a similar conversation before."

"Oh, believe me," Loki hissed, his gaze falling upon him again. "We've had nothing of the kind."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Doom said. "But we're not giving those girls up. And we never planned to. They are our leverage, our insurance—so the five of you don't try to follow us to Asgard. And once we're there, I'm sure no Asgardian will want to do anything to jeopardize the lives of a royal princess and Thor's most prized woman."

Loki waited. Schmidt stared at him, frozen. The Skrulls clacked their teeth together.

Loki took a step toward the two men. Then another, and another. He did not blink—he moved with the flawless grace of black poison. The Skrulls recoiled. Loki fixed his look on Schmidt and did not relent.

"Give them to me. Now."

"Or what?" Doom demanded. "I know you somehow faked your way out of your tracking device and stuck it on another one of your crew—I know what kind of magic you're capable of. But what are you planning to do alone?" He gestured to the ring of Skrulls around Loki. "There are twenty Skrulls here, plus Doctor Schmidt and myself, and we've got a dozen Skrull starships outside running cover." He chuckled. "Think about it, Loki. I was almost able to crush you all by myself when it was just the two of us."

Loki said nothing.

Schmidt swallowed, and glanced uncertainly at Doom—then fixed again on Loki.

Doom turned his head to the left—a chilly wind ruffled his clothes.

"Nice trick with the thunder and lightning, though. Pretty scary," Doom complimented. "Really—it looked incredible."

"Oh, I cannot take credit for that. I've forgotten my manners," Loki said, his voice light with sincerity. He lifted his chin. "Doctor Victor Von Doom, ruler of the kingdom of Latveria, and greatest sorcerer in all of Midgard, may I present…" Loki gestured. "Thor."

Doom straightened. He spun around.

Thor towered over Doom, his armor flashing in Loki's green light, his face twisted with rage.

And with a bellowing roar, he swung Mjollnir.

It crushed Doom in the chest.

Thunder bashed through the room.

Doom flew through the air and slammed _through_ the wall.

The Skrulls tumbled away, throwing their hands over their ears.

Thor leaped after Doom.

Loki advanced on Schmidt. He lashed out and grabbed him by the collar, and yanked his face close to his.

"_You_," he snarled, his voice low and deadly, his eyes blazing. "I can see through you, Johann Schmidt." His hands clenched on the fabric of his shirt. "And I hear the blood of _millions _calling your name. How many innocents have you butchered and destroyed and tortured? How many children have you sent to early graves?"

Schmidt gaped. Loki shook him.

"_How many?" _he howled.

"I…I follow the ideals of the Fuhrer," Schmidt stammered, grasping at Loki's hands. "A pure race—becoming superior beings, just as the gods wanted—"

"What gods?" Loki demanded as the Skrulls rattled and attained their feet again. Loki's nose wrinkled in a snarl. He shook his head.

"No god that I know." He flung Schmidt down. He thudded onto his back, then scrambled away.

"Please, mighty Loki," Schmidt said, holding up a hand. "I have worshipped you faithfully all my life—have mercy upon your servant."

"Your faith was mislaid," Loki snapped, stepping toward him. "And today is not a day for mercy—it is a day for blood."

Schmidt scrambled back. The Skrulls picked up their rattling weapons.

"Get to your feet, Johann Schmidt!" Loki roared. "Stand and face me while I kill you."

Schmidt's countenance transformed. He scowled fiercely, then got up and pulled a gun out of the hands of one of the Skrulls. He aimed at Loki.

Loki grinned.

AAAAA

"How are the eyes in the sky, Tin Man?" Steve asked breathlessly as he rushed silently down the cement hallway, Logan right beside him. He held his handgun up at the ready, silencer in place. Yellow lights flashed by overhead. He and Logan kept their strides short and quick, their attention darting back and forth each time they passed a doorway.

_"It's rocky up here, Boy Scout,"_ Tony answered in Steve's left ear. _"Hammer's got a bit of weather brewing. I could light up the city with all the static prancing around. But there's no sign of Skrull air cover we just heard Green Eyes talk about. You still got Claws with you?"_

"Copy that," Logan muttered. "We've busted into fifteen rooms down here during the last hour."

"_Find anything?" _Tony asked.

"Yeah," Steve answered as he and Logan slowed down and approached a turn. "No girls. Plenty of trouble."

Steve glanced over at Logan—his flannel shirt and jacket were riddled with bullet holes—his body had healed now for the third time. Logan met his eyes and gave him a grim look.

"More coming. Right around the bend," he said, unsheathing his claws with a sharp _shink_. He made a face. "Man, I'm getting sick of these guys. It's like a recurring nightmare."

"Let's just find the girls and get out of here," Steve said, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and cocking his gun. "I'm right behind you."

Logan nodded, then let out an animal bellow and leaped around the corner. Two bullets instantly struck him in the chest and went through—blood splattered against the wall.

Logan bared his teeth, his eyes wide with fury, and charged toward his attackers. Steve leaped out after him, aimed over Logan's shoulder, and fired into the ranks of black-clad young men—all of whom wore vibrant swastikas on their left arms.

Steve set his jaw as his gun kicked in his hand. This was taking too long.

They only had half an hour until Doom and Schmidt opened their bridge.

AAAAA

**_12:30 pm_**

_30 minutes until Midgard Bifrost activation_

Thor blasted through the opening Doom had made when he fell through the wall. He landed hard in a crouch, shaking the floor. The large, empty gray room was mostly dark, light filtering in from the small eastern windows. Ahead of him, Doom scrambled to get to his feet, panting.

"Aha!" Doom said, pointing. "So _this _is the mighty Thor. I've heard so much about you."

Thor strode toward him, hefting Mjollnir and grinding his teeth.

"Fascinating tricks, by the way," Doom said, taking a step back and straightening up. "Brilliant strategy. I must applaud your ingenuity, however misguided."

"You talk too much," Thor decided. He threw Mjollnir.

Doom flung up his hands. A glittering blue shield snapped into existence.

Mjollnir struck it. Lightning lanced out in all directions. Doom stumbled backward—but not very far. Mjollnir leaped back to Thor's hand. Thor's eyes narrowed.

"What is this?"

Doom's shield disappeared, and he shook out his hands.

"Contrary to popular belief," he said. "Your brother does not have a monopoly on magic. At least not in this realm." And he wound up, and flung a blazing stream of deadly light straight at Thor's chest.

AAAAA

"_Sir, bogies approaching the southern portion of the island."_

"How many, Jarvis?" Tony asked, coasting around the empty building where the rest of his team were.

"_Twelve, sir,_" Jarvis replied. _"Unknown make, unknown origin. Fighter jets of some kind, though they seem to be powered by the same energy as your reactor. Probably the air cover we heard Doom mention."_

"Good to know," Tony said, grids and readouts flicking past his face as he assessed the blown-out topmost story of the sky scraper. Inside, blue and green light flashed like paparazzi. Just over Tony's head, black clouds rolled, seething with glimmers of lightning. Static crackled against the skin of his armor.

He gunned his engines, swung around the building one last time, and faced south.

There they were—twelve black-and-silver, angular fighters bearing down on him in a sharp V formation. The rumble of their engines vibrated the air.

"All right, Jarvis, this should be a piece of cake," Tony said, bracing himself.

"_Whatever you say, sir."_

"Here we go."

The fighters loomed in front of him. Their engines screamed.

Tony pushed his speed. Clouds flashed by.

He raised one hand and powered it up.

The lead fighter fired right at him—sharp, blue bolts.

_"Incoming," _Jarvis warned.

Tony fired—the bolts shivered out of existence.

The fighters broke formation—five shot straight up, five straight down—two swerved to either side.

Tony spun, pounding at them as they passed.

He whirled, twisted in the air, and aimed his tank missile at the rear of the closest. With a shout, he let it off the chain.

It sped through the air and collided with the engines.

It exploded. The back half of the fighter blew off.

And instead of following its original trajectory, the fighter curved, and began to plummet toward the city.

"Crap!" Tony yelped, diving after it. He had to get underneath it—had to muscle it out over the water—

Two black flashes—two fighters swung around behind him and locked onto him.

_"Sir, they are targeting you—I recommend evasive action."_

"Can't, Jarvis—I've got to get this—"

Blue blasts raked the air, peppering his paint. Heat flashed through his sensors and all his alarms sounded. Tony swore. Black smoke consumed the falling fighter. Tony kicked his suit into another gear, diving faster.

"_Sir—they fired a missile. You must evade—"_

"Jarvis—"

_"Do it, sir!" _

Tony jerked back, and swerved.

A missile shot past, inches from him.

It blasted straight into the street.

And the enemy fighter plowed into the Cunard Building.

Tony whirled, hovering in midair for a moment, panting—as a raging fire gnashed at the ankles of the skyscraper, belching poisonous smoke.

"_Sir, it appears you are not their target," _Jarvis said. _"That fighter adjusted his steering so he would crash within the city. And the others are now firing on the citizenry."_

Tony watched, his heart racing, as the fighters strafed the streets, sending an entire line of taxi cabs careening into the air, billowing explosions following in their wakes.

"Then we're just gonna have to be more interesting to chase," Tony said. "C'mon, Jarvis. Let's have some fun."

"_I am right with you, sir."_

AAAAA

"You have no choice," Schmidt said, aiming steadily at Loki. "We have you outnumbered and far outgunned. You cannot escape and you cannot defeat us—not as it stands."

"Arrogant flea," Loki shook his head. "There is a reason you thought I was a god."

Schmidt fired at him. Twice.

Loki swatted at the bolts.

He caught them.

Then, with a flick of his wrists, he shot them back at Schmidt.

Schmidt dove backward. The blasts whizzed over his head.

The Skrulls finally got their bearings, and fired at Loki.

With an unearthly howl, Loki whirled.

Green fire encircled him, following the liquid movement of his cape and swirling with the movement of his arms.

The fire wreathed out from him, its tentacles whipping the air like a cat o'nine tails.

The Skrull bolts disintegrated.

Then, the tongues of flame slashed through the alien ranks. Heads and limbs severed. Shrieks rose to the sky. Reeking blood spilled. Bodies tumbled to the floor in pieces.

Loki turned back to Schmidt.

And terror widened the Nazi's eyes.

"Please," Schmidt pleaded again. "Please, you were right. Please, don't—"

Loki advanced on him. He bent and picked him up by the throat. Schmidt's gun clattered to the floor.

"How dare you beg for mercy when you were willing to deliver none?" Loki spat. "Not to my wife or child or the other innocent women. Not to Steven Rogers, who is a _good man_. Yet you think you are superior to all of them because you can build and invent, and force others to do your will," Loki slowly walked forward while the scarlet man squirmed and choked in his iron grip. "And because you are stronger than most of your kind, and can heal from wounds that ought to kill you."

Schmidt could not speak—he just locked eyes with Loki. Wind buffeted them both, fluttering through Loki's cape and hair. Loki's feet crunched on glass. Thunder rumbled just outside.

Loki drew Schmidt close, till Loki's nose almost touched Schmidt's face.

"Heal from this."

And he hurled him out the window.

Schmidt howled and tumbled straight down, flailing.

Loki watched him fall, then turned and snatched up his gun.

He leaned over the edge and looked down.

Schmidt slammed into the pavement.

Loki leaped out after him.

He fell like a star, silent and graceful, the wind whipping his clothes.

He landed lightly, as if he had just stepped off a curb.

He strode up to Schmidt's shattered body. Schmidt's wide eyes stared sightlessly up at the boiling sky.

Loki pointed the gun down at him, clenched his jaw, and fired.

For an instant, the blue beam covered him.

Then, with a fizz and a snap, Schmidt's body turned to dust.

Loki drew in a shaking breath, tossed the gun aside, and turned away. Slowly, he canted his head, now mindful of his earpiece. He frowned.

"Thor, my brother," he murmured hoarsely. "Where are you?"

Only crackling answered him.

Loki's heart suspended.

_"Hey, guys?"_

Loki jumped. That was Steve's voice.

_"_Steve?" Loki said, pressing his fingers to his earpiece. "What is happening?"

"_We've got a problem," _Logan said.

_"Uh, yeah—tiny problem,_" Tony added. _"I've almost been shot out of the sky at least three times, and I've only—"_

"_No, not that kind of problem," _Steve interrupted. _"Guys…the girls aren't here."_

_ "What do you mean?" _Tony demanded.

_"They are not in this building," _Logan finished. "_They're just not. They're nowhere."_

Tony let out a long string of angry words Loki did not know.

"_Hello?"_

"Thor!" Loki cried, instantly recognizing his brother's voice. "What—Where are you? Where is Doom?"

Thor coughed—Loki winced.

_"I had him cornered,_" Thor said. _"And then he…"_

"_What?" _Tony pressed. Thor's voice turned to a growl.

_"He disappeared."_

_AAAAA_

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you so much for your continual support! I couldn't do this without you! _

_For this section, I listened to the Batman Begins theme, then the Thor soundtrack: "Brothers Fight."_

_Enjoy!_

_VVVVV_

Chap 17

"Being deeply loved by someone

Gives you strength,

While loving someone deeply

Gives you courage."

-Lao Tzu

_**12:45 pm**_

_Fifteen minutes before Midgard Bifrost activation_

"_Disappeared? What do you mean?" _Steve demanded.

_"I mean disappeared," _Thor shot back. _"He was _there_, in front of me, and then he was not."_

_ "Crap," _Tony declared. "_I'll bet a hundred bucks he's gone to where the girls _really _are."_

_"Green Eyes," _Logan said—Loki straightened.

_"_Me?"

_ "Yeah. Where's Romanov?"_

Loki stepped out of the street and up onto a curb—the cold wind blustered through his cape and sent bits of trash bouncing down the sidewalk. Overhead, the dark clouds gathered and seethed, creating a slow swirl in the sky over the island.

And deep, menacing, mechanical whines cut back and forth through the upper air.

Skrull starships.

Loki pressed his fingers to his earpiece and paused, letting his eyes unfocus. He took a deep breath…

Then frowned.

"I…I don't know," he confessed, his heart speeding up.

_"What?" _Thor said. _"You knew before—you were certain when we were back in the church—you knew where she was." _

"I know," Loki snapped, clenching his left fist. "But she…She's indistinct, now.'

_"Why, what happened?" _Steve wondered. Loki lifted his head and narrowed his eyes.

"Doom."

_"What are you talking about?" _Logan wanted to know.

"He discovered my tracking spell."

_"I thought you said he'd have to shoot her to remove it," _Tony reminded him.

"I did," Loki said. "But he hasn't removed it. He's muddling it with a spell of his own. All I can tell is that she is moving."

"_Ah," _Tony said, in a tone like he'd realized something.

_"What, what?"_ Steve wanted to know. "_Talk fast—Claws and me are kinda in an uncomfortable spot at the moment. More Nazis coming any second now. "_

_"He took her with him," _Tony explained. _"She _was _here—that's how we found the doctors. But when Doom zipped out of here, he picked up Romanov too." _

_ "Doom's got the hots for the Russian spy…" _Logan muttered.

"_Hey, like _we _can talk," _Tony answered darkly. "_But that's beside the point—the point is that we can't track the girls anymore."_

_ "We're gonna have to look for some sign around here," _Steve realized. "_Some clue as to where they've gone." _

_"Okay, work fast," _Tony ordered. _"Us fliers have our work cut out for us."_

"What—" Loki started. But he was cut off as a wave of bone-crushing pressure swept over him, followed by an earth-shuddering rumble and an ear-splitting screech. He squinted upward to watch a Skrull fighter rake the air just over his street. Loki staggered sideways and put his hand against the cool brick of a building.

_"I'm coming, Tin Man," _Thor decided.

"_Glad to hear it. Green Eyes, keep working on that tracking spell. Claws, Boy Scout—keep looking."_

_ "Copy that," _Steve said.

Just then, a focused roar of air issued high above—Loki tilted his head back to see Thor shoot out from the highest level of the skyscraper, Mjollnir brandished out before him, his red cape like a streak of blood behind him. The next moment, Tony's gleaming iron man joined Thor, cutting across his path and then flanking him—and together they began to pursue the near-dozen fighters that swarmed between the buildings like hornets.

Loki stepped into an alcove, closed his eyes, and—fighting to ignore the noise—focused all of his concentration of the person of Natasha Romanov.

They had very, _very _little time.

AAAAA

"We have him," Thor declared, speeding through the air next to Tony, hot on the tail of one of the fighters.

_"All right, go," _Tony said. "_I'll catch him._"

Thor charged ahead, dodged the tail fin and landed on the top of the fighter. Wind buffeted him—lightning crackled in the clouds just feet above his head. Grabbing tight hold of a lip in the metal, Thor hefted Mjollnir into the air—

And brought it down on the cockpit.

The cockpit shattered—shards exploded outward and flashed past him, knocking against his chest armor. The Skrull inside twisted, jerking on his instruments.

Thor clamped down to keep from being thrown off as the fighter took a sharp right turn.

The Skrull howled at him in a language Thor did not know—Thor bared his teeth, clawed his way forward, and grabbed the Skrull by the back of the neck—

With one swift heave, he broke the Skrull's restraints, and flung him out of the fighter. The Skrull spun away into thin air, screaming.

_"Got him?" _Tony asked in his ear.

_"_Yes," Thor panted.

_"Let's take out the garbage." _

Thor leaned sideways and let himself tumble off the side of the fighter. Instantly, he caught himself and rocketed forward beneath it, right next to Tony. Tony grabbed the left wing, and Thor clamped his hand down on the cold metal of the right. Together, they drove the ship out over the gray water and shoved it down. Pilotless, it careened through the air and slammed into the water.

_"_No time to get cocky_," _Tony warned him. Thor hovered in the air and glanced over at the metal man, who gazed back through glowing, slitted eyes. Thor nodded, and turned back around.

The Skrulls still were not chasing them—they continued to ravage the streets, shooting randomly and rapidly at anything that moved. Which included men, women and children trying to flee the burning buildings.

"We must work faster," Thor said, lifting an eyebrow at Tony. "We don't have time to be so courteous."

"You're right," Tony admitted. "Let's go."

AAAAA

Steve threw his shoulder into a door. It bashed open. He and Logan leaped through. Steve aimed before his eyes had even focused.

Three young Nazis at computer stations spun around, scrambled for weapons and fired wildly at them.

Steve fired once—caught one of them in the chest and sent him crumpling to the floor. Then, he dove behind the nearest console.

Logan charged straight in—took a bullet to the shoulder and one to the head. He shook them off, jumped over a chair, landed right in front of one Nazi and slashed his gun in half. The man screamed—Logan stabbed him through the gut, then threw him down. The last Nazi roared and sprayed the room with gunfire. Logan bellowed and started toward him. The Nazi swung around and aimed at him.

Steve hopped up, sighted, and shot him through the head.

Silence fell.

"What have we got?" Steve panted, glancing around. Logan leaned over one of the consoles and squinted. Then, he frowned. Steve came over and stood beside him.

"What? What is it?"

"Weird," Logan shook his head. "Weird and weirder." He glanced up at Steve. "We need to phone this in."

AAAAA

Tony blazed after Thor toward the smoldering wreck that was now downtown, realizing how exactly they had to tag-team this: Thor would crash the party, and Tony would clean up. Thor had the hammer, after all.

_"Hammer is approaching target_," Jarvis observed.

"You like the nicknames, huh?" Tony said absently.

_"Code names, sir," _Jarvis corrected.

"Yeah, whatever," Tony muttered. "Here we go!"

A Skrull began firing at the Woolworth building, blasting out its middle stories, maybe in hopes of bringing it down.

Thor raced underneath the fighter, came up in front of it, shot back toward it—

And took its right wing _off _of it.

Sliced through it like it was made of paper. Then, Thor flashed past Tony, going the other way, and Tony sped up.

"Okay, Jarvis!" he shouted.

Power surged into his hands. Instantly, Tony brought them up and blasted the falling fighter. It ricocheted and twirled toward the water. Tony blasted it again and again as hundreds of sharp pieces of it fell off and tumbled onto rooftops and slashed through antennae and satellite dishes. Tony got underneath it, kept pounding away at it, until only the core of it remained for him to toss into the water.

"Well…" he gasped, breaking out in a sweat as he watched it smack into the waves. "That was fun."

_"I'm being followed," _he heard Thor announce.

Tony spun around—

Thor blazed toward midtown, a fighter right on him, shooting relentlessly. Thor swerved and dodged to avoid the blasts—but shrapnel from the buildings kept flying toward him and knocking him back into the fighter's line-of-sight.

_"Thor!" _Loki cried, cutting through Tony's thoughts.

"_I'm all right," _Thor assured him tersely. _"Find Romanov." _

_"You know why they're doing this, don't you?" _Loki hissed. _"This is a diversion, so we won't follow Doom. We are wasting time. We need to—" _

"We can't leave these fighters here," Tony insisted, re-engaging and blasting after Thor. "They're killing people—"

_"Guys," _Steve reported in. _"We've killed at least thirty men all told but they're not guarding anything. And now Logan says the computers in here aren't even real. They're turned on, but there's nothing on them. Just…solitaire, he says. " _

Tony swore again, violently.

"Thor, I'm coming, buddy."

Just then, Thor swung around, heading back toward Tony.

"Aha, okay," Tony realized. He ducked down between the buildings, so the fighter wouldn't see him coming.

Thor darted over his head. Tony rocketed straight up into the air, aimed and fired right at the nose of the fighter.

It split in half.

Tony spun upward and away as the ship's two pieces lurched apart, spitting sparks and fumes.

Tony's head jerked around—Thor had clambered on board of another fighter, holding on as it spun, trying to knock him off.

Tony looked back at the falling fighter—

And his heart stopped.

He could not catch both pieces.

"Loki!" he shouted, diving for the closest piece, the air screaming past him. "Loki, a little help here!"

AAAAA

Thor's distress had pulled Loki out of his concentration like he had been yanked out from underneath the water by his hair. He now stood on a street corner, his clothes battered by the wind, gazing up at the interlacing jet streams and the boiling clouds, trying to catch a glimpse of his brothers.

And then something very close exploded.

His head jerked up. High, high above, Tony hovered—he had just blasted right through a Skrull fighter. And the machine had cut in two.

Now, both pieces trailed downward, wailing and streaming. In two opposite directions.

Tony's voice startled him.

_"Loki! Loki, a little help, here!_"

Loki jolted. His eyes flew to his level—

A large, bedraggled crowd of men, some women and several children, was fleeing, panic-stricken, from the doors of a building that had just been shot to pieces—fleeing out into a street that was milliseconds away from being obliterated.

Loki lifted his eyes.

The shredded, burning, smoking fighter bore down on them, like a hammer ready to drive in a mighty nail.

Time stopped.

Loki's gaze fell upon a mother and her two sobbing children. They seemed to move in slow motion. She dragged them by the hands as she ran as hard as she could.

The little blonde boy tripped. He wrenched out of her grasp.

He tumbled to his hands and knees on the paving.

The mother jerked to a stop and twisted to turn back—

She was too far away.

Loki moved.

In an instant, he leaped across the distance and flung himself onto his knees at the child's side.

He threw his arms around the little body, wrapped him up tight, bent down over him and covered him entirely. He closed his eyes…

And a deep _snap_ rumbled through the foundations of the buildings.

All the people screamed. They collapsed onto the road.

The street lit up like midday—but the illumination was _green_.

A massive object slammed into _something_…

And split into a thousand pieces and disintegrated.

Loki lifted his head, but did not loosen his grip on the child.

A humming, pulsating green shield arched over the whole block, sending flickers of eerie bright light against every glass surface and across every face.

He turned. The fighter had struck his shield.

He let out a tight breath, and straightened.

The Midgardians began to scramble to their feet. All of them stared at him.

The mother, tugging on her little girl's hand, broke down weeping, and held her arm out to Loki.

Loki stood up, and brought the little boy up with him. Gently, he passed him into the mother's embrace, and the mother squeezed Loki's hand as he did. Loki swallowed hard.

"What is all this?" a wide-eyed man demanded, stepping toward him. "What's going on?"

Loki paused a moment, trying to gather his thoughts—but the crowd pressed in around him, their eyes fixed on his face.

"You are under attack," he finally said, as the shield hummed and buzzed overhead.

"By who?" the mother wanted to know, clutching her boy tight to her.

"The Skrulls," Loki said. "An ancient race from a realm near Asgard."

They stared at him blankly.

"They are in the employ of Dr. Victor von Doom," he said.

Recognition flickered across many of their faces.

"And…who are you?" another man asked.

"Prince Loki," he answered, searching the sky again through the shield. "And somewhere up there, my brothers Prince Thor and the Iron Man are going to bring those fighters down."

Murmurs moved through the crowd.

"Are you gonna help?" the first man asked, waving to the shield. Loki looked at him.

"Yes," he finally said.

"What should we do?" the mother asked. Loki met her bright eyes. His brow furrowed.

"Stop being afraid," he said. "Stop running. Think. Stay beneath this shield until you plan a course of action—but work quickly. The shield will not last long. Then, get out of the street." He strode past them, toward the edge of the shield. He glanced back at them over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow. "And if your people have any aerial defenses—_now _would be the time."

AAAAA

Tony stopped breathing for one horrid moment as he turned and watched the other half of the fighter explode—

Then, he caught a glimpse of the broad, flickering green shield that covered most of the street, and all the people that had almost gotten hit.

"Way to go, Green Eyes," he muttered, then gritted his teeth and honed in on the next fighter.

It took no time for him to catch up to it—the pilot was too focused on strafing the Brooklyn Bridge. Tony buzzed right up behind it as it flew out over the bridge, grabbed it, and plunged his hand down through a panel above the engines. With a swift twist, he yanked a fistful of wires free.

Smoke plumed from the engines. The fighter drifted sideways and soared toward the water.

"All _right!" _Tony barked. He turned to launch away from the fighter—

Then whiplashed back and slammed, spread-eagle onto the back of the fighter.

"Gah! What the—"

He tried to sit up.

He couldn't.

His entire back, arms and legs cemented to the fighter.

"Um…okay, not good…" he said, jerking his arms. Nothing worked.

_"Sir, it appears that your tampering with the electrical system has activated a peculiar magnetic field on the skin of the ship—"_

"Flares!" Tony commanded. Fire sparked from his sides and pounded the metal. Nothing happened.

"Jarvis—this is _not good!" _Tony cried as the fighter pitched toward the looming East River.

AAAAA

Thor twisted in midair and frowned toward the river—

To see Tony, invisibly lashed to a fighter plunging toward the water—

He had to get to him. But six fighters stood in his way.

"Brother," Thor said, getting a better grip on Mjollnir. "We need you in the sky."

_"I'm coming._"

AAAAA

Loki strode out from under the shield. He glanced back at it, assessing its strength. Then, he met the eyes of the man, the woman, and her two children. He nodded. Then, he turned and faced the open street, the sky.

He bent his knees and lowered his head.

Then, with a heave that rippled the cement, he shot into the air.

He soared up, up, flashing past the countless windows, up, up, out of the canyon of buildings. He shot up and out of the crowd of steel and brick, his cape flapping, and instantly sighted his brother.

The next moment, he lighted by his side. Thor glanced over at him, then out at the horizon. Loki's eyes narrowed.

Half a dozen fighters formed a V and arched toward the two of them—and then Loki saw Tony, seemingly strapped to the back of a fighter, slam into the river.

Loki's heart thudded.

"We must go!"

Thor said nothing—he lunged forward. Loki instantly followed.

Side by side, the brothers flew straight toward the fighters at break-neck speed. The air tore with the violence and noise of their passage.

Suddenly, the fighters were on top of them—they could see the pilots' demonic faces.

But they did not engage them.

Thor and Loki swooped up and over, spinning and whirling around the wings and tail fins, and in an eyeblink they had passed them. The next moment, they rocketed out over the river.

The water foamed and seethed where the fighter had sunk. Thor drew to a stop over the spot, lifted Mjollnir, and twirled it with all his force. The clouds gathered around him, flashing and spinning. Wind rushed and tunneled downward, swallowing him and shooting down past him. Loki pulled back from the torrent and spun around.

"The fighters are coming back!" he shouted. Thor did not reply—his eyes focused on the depths.

The wind carved into the water, ploughed straight through it and down, opening like a wound.

And then Loki saw Tony, latched to the back of the fighter on the bottom of the river.

"Go!" Thor commanded.

Loki dove.

He plummeted headfirst into the opening Thor had made. Icy water sprayed across him—wind snagged at his cape. He righted himself and thudded onto his feet on the back of the fighter next to Tony. The whirlpool raged and hissed all around, tossing his hair into his face. He frowned down at the Iron Man's prostrate form.

"What is this magic?" he yelled, bending toward him.

"Search me!" Tony bellowed back.

Loki glanced up at the frothing edges of the whirlpool, then turned back to Tony, gritted his teeth and clapped his hands.

A blinding green flash enveloped the fighter.

Tony blasted free.

Loki grabbed him and jerked him up, up and out.

"My repulsors are malfunctioning!" Tony hollered over the cacophony. Loki did not reply—he kept hauling him away from Thor's tornado.

Finally, Thor let it loose and the water slapped down over the fighter—

And Loki's eyes went wide.

"Thor!" he warned—

But it was too late.

Those six fighters were _on _them—

Their weapons powered up—

And a deep, unfamiliar _ZOOM _lit up the sky.

Loki's entire being twitched—he almost dropped Tony as his head jerked around to see five gray, streamlined, _wicked_-looking fighters blaze across their path and open fire.

Their engine noise thudded against Loki's bones and screamed over his head—and their weapons sounded like rapid-fire, potent bursts unlike anything he had ever heard—

And they bit into the Skrull fighters like dogs biting into raw meat.

The Skrulls burst into flame—they skidded sideways, they filled with holes. And in perfect formation, the fighters shot over the island, curved back around and honed in on the rest of them.

"Rhodey!" Tony exulted. "Haha! That's my boy!"

"Wh…What are _those_?" Loki stammered. Thor's face turned deadly as he watched them.

"Relax, Hammer," Tony urged. "They're the good guys."

"Who—" Loki started.

"The United States Air Force," Tony answered.

Loki and Thor exchanged startled glances—Tony pulled back from Loki and fired up his repulsors.

"Okay, I'm good now," he declared, taking a deep breath. "And since the cavalry's here, I say we go see what's happened to our veterans."

AAAAA

Steve and Logan stared into one of the dim, cement rooms—they'd just knocked the door in. It was empty. Steve groaned and closed his eyes.

Footsteps sounded to their left. Steve pulled back and aimed down the hall. Logan spun, set himself and stretched his neck.

"Here we go again…" he muttered.

"Wait…" Steve stopped him. "Do you hear…clanging?"

The next second, three towering men swung around the corner—

A windblown Thor, a sopping-wet Loki, and a heavy-footed Iron Man.

"Ah, okay," Logan relaxed. "Clanging."

"What's up?" Steve asked, lowering his gun.

The other three came to a halt in front of them—the princes breathed hard and glanced around.

"You've found nothing," Loki observed, leaning forward to peer into their most recent room.

"Nothing," Steve shook his head. "Which actually has started to make sense."

"Yeah, to me too," Tony said as his helmet opened to reveal his sweaty face. "This was a setup."

"What do you mean?" Thor asked.

"They meant to engage us here," Loki said, swiping water out of his face. "Keep us busy far away from their actual bifrost site while it was in its final stages of construction."

"That's why they were firing down at the street and at the buildings," Tony said.

"Yeah—keeping Steve and me occupied chasing through a maze of random rooms filled with Nazis," Logan observed. "And you guys busy chasing a bunch of fighter planes around, knowing that you wouldn't just let them destroy Manhattan."

"They know us too well," Steve muttered.

"Not well enough," Loki murmured, his eyes narrowing. He stepped past Steve and into the room.

"What is it?" Thor wondered, following him. "Do you see something?"

The rest of the men followed Loki in. It smelled dank and musty. Their footsteps tapped. Loki stared at the upper walls of the chamber. For a moment, he said nothing.

"You remember…" he finally said, slowly. "The image of our women that the doctors showed us?"

"Yeah," Logan growled. Loki frowned.

"The stripe of paint on the wall…" he murmured.

Steve jerked.

"It was red!"

Thor's jaw tightened.

"It was _red_."

"And this is green. They were never here at all," Loki declared, turning around to face them. "They are being held in the _first _place we raided—the place where I sensed the great power surge. _That _is where they are—and where the bifrost is."

"Okay, we know where that is," Tony said. "Let's get out of here and—"

"No need," Loki said, eyes flashing. "I don't care if Doom knows we're coming. In fact, I hope he does."

"What—" Steve started.

"Clasp hands," Loki ordered. Hesitatingly, each man grasped the hand of the man next to him, forming a circle.

"Hold on," Loki warned.

And the next instant, Steve was blinded by a green flash of light.

AAAAA

**12:59 p.m.**

_One minute until Midgard Bifrost Activation_

Their eyes flew open. They stood in an almost identical hallway—dingy, dimly-lit and musty…

Except a red stripe marked the walls—as did black scoring from a firefight.

"That was wild," Logan commented, blinking rapidly.

They all let go of each other's hands—

And Loki sucked in a breath.

"What is it?" Tony demanded, his face shield slamming shut.

But Thor did not need him to answer—all of them felt the deep, robotic _hummmm_ begin, and vibrate the floors, walls and ceiling.

"Let's go," Thor said. And he turned, secured his grip and crushed the wall with Mjollnir.

Lightning flashed. The wall collapsed. Chunks of cement cracked and crumbled to the floor, leaving a gaping hole leading to the neighboring hallway. Thor charged through, his blood boiling, followed easily by Tony, and the others clambered over the wreckage in pursuit.

Over and over, Thor swung his arm and demolished the walls standing in their way. But no one emerged from rooms or down corridors to challenge them. Again, the place seemed deserted.

But that pounding hum got louder, until he could feel it in his bones.

At last, Thor hefted his great hammer and slammed through one last wall…

And opened up a vast chamber.

His heart fell through the floor.

A gleaming silver asbru gate whirled like a dervish, its guiding rod pointed directly upward to a shaft and a hole in the faraway ceiling—

And the blue power of the bifrost rocketed up and out toward the heavens, filling the entire room with flashing light.

After staring at this for a choked moment, his gaze fell down upon the actual gate—

To see endless legions of armed Skrull soldiers racing through, keeping in tight lines of four abreast, their boots thundering on the ramp.

Dr. Doom stood just to one side of them, with Natasha Romanov.

And between them, handcuffed and held at gunpoint, stood Jane, Sif, Marie, and Pepper.

"_Jane!" _Loki howled, starting forward.

Doom grabbed her elbow and rammed a glowing pistol under her jaw.

Jane stiffened, her forehead twisting.

Thor lashed out and grabbed Loki's shoulder. Loki stopped.

Natasha smirked and clamped her hand down on Pepper's arm, leveling her own pistol at Pepper's heart. The women stood stoically, faces tight. Thor's eyes locked with Sif's. She gazed back, her eyes bright as polished iron.

"Not so fast," Doom warned calmly. "Remember what I told you a little earlier. I'm taking these lovely ladies to Asgard to use as leverage. You're not to lift a finger, or I'll blow off their heads. I mean it."

Thor's hand closed around Loki's cape and he bit back a shudder as his vision turned scarlet.

Doom glanced back at the Skrull troops that continued to charge through the bifrost toward Asgard. Thor couldn't take his eyes from Sif.

She lifted her chin and took a breath. She swallowed, then shook her head minutely.

Thor mentally staggered. Then he realized what she meant.

_Not here. Not yet._

The last line of Skrulls darted through. Doom jerked on Jane's arm, pulling her toward the gate. Sif, who was chained to Jane, followed, after glancing one last time at Thor. Marie was dragged after, and Natasha shoved Pepper forward.

They paused at the threshold. Doom addressed them.

"If you follow, I'll kill them. And even if you don't care about that—Asgard is now overrun by two-thousand Skrulls. Reinforcements will soon join them. Stay here, Avengers. It's over."

And the six of them marched through the gate and disappeared in a blaze of light.

The bifrost deactivated. The light snapped off. The dome ground to a halt.

Silence filled the chamber.

Loki ascended the steps, and stood just where Jane had just been. He gazed at the floor. He did not move. Thor's heart didn't feel as if it was beating properly.

"Well…" Tony murmured, opening his face shield again. He didn't say anything else.

"He's got an army," Logan said, searching each of their faces. "_And _the girls. What are we supposed to do now?"

"We cannot follow them," Thor said, trying not to let his voice sound weak. "They will be watching that very spot, waiting to kill the women. And us."

"And even if we did—what are we supposed to do about an army?" Steve asked.

"Asgard has an army," Thor said. "And my father—"

"Will be hard-pressed to defeat a direct attack," Loki finished quietly. "It's never happened in Asgard before."

No one spoke. All at once, they couldn't think of anything to say. Their hearts turned to lead.

"There is one thing we can do," Loki finally whispered.

"What?" Tony demanded, his joints humming as he stepped forward. Loki glanced at him.

"Follow me."

Loki strode through the door and into the bifrost dome. Thor, frowning, paced after him. The others noisily followed.

Loki placed his hand on the center console and glanced upward, at the opening toward the shaft. He took a deep breath.

Something clicked. The dome began to spin around them—slowly at first, then picking up speed. The other men gathered closer to him. Loki removed his hand. Power shot up and out of the center console, and a blazing blue light opened overhead. Logan, Tony and Steve flinched. Thor's chest tightened with questions. But he did not ask them.

The next instant, power lashed out and grabbed him, then jerked him upward. Next to him, Tony, Steve, Logan and Loki launched straight up and blazed like comets into the ether.

Thor held tight to Mjollnir as the blue of the bifrost squalled and spun all around them, pushing them viciously from behind and pulling them just as fiercely forward. For endless minutes, chaos and cacophony dominated every one of his senses.

Then, all at once, the blue vanished. Freezing wind gusted through his clothes…

And he landed hard on his feet.

He plunged ankle deep in snow.

He lifted his face, startled.

A silvery, barren landscape, jagged and craggy and broken—dark and icy and silent—stretched out before the five men. Snow fell quietly from an iron sky. Their breath rose in vapor from their mouths.

Loki, who stood at the fore, slowly faced them, and glanced at each of them in turn. His face had gone white again, his lips pale, and his eyes a vivid green as his hair fell wildly across his brow.

"My lords," he murmured—and his breath did not steam. "Welcome to Jotunheim."

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	18. Chapter 18

_Sorry for the delay—but I REALLY wanted to nail this chapter on the head. I do hope you enjoy it—it's vitally important. Thank you!_

_VVVVV_

CHAP 18

"There is no difficulty that enough love will not conquer;  
No disease that enough love will not heal;  
No door that enough love will not open;  
No gulf that enough love will not bridge;  
No wall that enough love will not throw down;  
No sin that enough love will not redeem...  
It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble;  
How hopeless the outlook; how muddled the tangle;

How great the mistake.  
A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.  
If only you could love enough

You would be the happiest and most powerful being in the world."

**Emmet Fox**

Loki watched as countless emotions flickered across the other men's faces. Logan's eyes flashed, his forehead scowled, and he drew in deep, tight breaths like a puma testing the air. Steve stood still, but his gaze roved with the penetration of a trained soldier. Tony blinked, startled, and closed his metal hands. Finally, Loki's attention settled on Thor, whose vivid blue eyes focused on him, his brow furrowed earnestly. Snow fell silently down on them, dotting Logan's dark jacket, Thor's cape and Steve's uniform, and melting on the surface of Tony's armor.

Logan let out a long breath.

"Nice place," he decided.

"What just happened?" Tony asked.

"We traveled through Doom's bifrost," Thor explained. "To another realm."

"Realm?" Steve repeated. "What does that mean?"

"Another planet," Loki clarified, trying to think like a Midgardian. "In another galaxy."

Logan, Steve and Tony stared at him. Chill wind whipped through their hair and clothes. Snowflakes spiraled around their legs.

"Okay…" Tony said, eyebrows going up. "While my brain processes that—can I ask _what _we're doing here?"

Loki looked back at Tony, sensing Thor's silent questions like a physical pressure. Loki's body had gone cold—his heartbeat slowed and his blood felt like liquid ice. It took all his effort to speak—and it hurt.

"We're going to ask a favor."

Thor's eyes blazed. The next moment, he stepped right up to Loki and leaned his face so close that Loki felt his beard scratch against his left ear.

"What are you thinking of, brother?" he whispered. His tight voice shook Loki to the core. "We have no way of escaping this place if Heimdall is in battle!"

Loki's vision unfocused as he stared out over Thor's scarlet shoulder at the gray wasteland beyond.

"We must persuade the Jotuns to help us into Asgard using their manner of travel," Loki murmured. "They can set us down anywhere, without a bifrost."

"But they don't have the ice casket," Thor reminded him. Loki said nothing. Thor backed up and stared straight into Loki's eyes, searching.

"Um, guys?" Tony tried. Neither brother addressed him or broke their united gaze. Loki tightened his jaw.

Thor's eyes went wide.

"_You _have it!" he breathed. Loki still said nothing. He couldn't. Thor's gaze sharpened.

"But what about—"

"_Guys_," Tony said again—his voice flooded with warning. Loki took hold of Thor's armor-bound wrist and turned...

To see the before-empty crags and boulders now filled with silent Frost Giants.

"_Oohh _boy…" Steve murmured.

For a long, frozen moment, no one moved.

The Frost Giants stood, half concealed by rocks, their scarlet gazes pinning the men in place. The air hung so quiet that Loki could hear the snowflakes patter softly against the icy ground.

The center giant stepped forward.

Logan's claws came out with a snap.

The giants bared their sharp teeth.

Loki grabbed Logan's shoulder.

"Peace," he hissed in his ear, eyeing the Giants. "Stay still and let _me _do the speaking, unless you want to get us all killed." Loki carried his warning to the others by way of a severe glance. Then, he let go of Logan and stepped past Thor. Briefly, he laid his hand on Thor's cold breastplate, then faced the first giant. His insides trembled, but he made himself draw in a breath of frosty air.

"Forgive my friend," he spoke up—his smooth voice carried through the stillness. "He is from the realm of Midgard, and has never seen anyone of your magnificent stature."

The giants chuckled. The deep sound shivered Loki's bones. The foremost giant took three more heavy steps toward him. His tall, broad, muscular sapphire form was clothed only in a long loincloth, and his right arm bore tattooed markings Loki could not read. Military insignia, perhaps. Loki lifted his gaze to his face. The giant appeared young—few lines marked his cheeks and forehead, and his red eyes gleamed. He canted his bare head and folded his arms across his chest.

"By your looks, two of you hail from Asgard. The others…" he lifted an eyebrow and glanced quizzically at the group. "They cannot be from Midgard. Midgardians play with rocks and twigs."

The other giants laughed.

"Um, I'm not sure when you visited last," Tony spoke up. "But you might want to pop in sometime soon so you don't accidentally keep insulting people."

The Jotuns laughed again. Loki kept himself from swallowing.

"We would be delighted to accept your invitation," the lead Jotun grinned. "But alas, our means of transportation has been…misplaced." His scarlet gaze landed on Loki, and he gave him a half smile. Loki drew himself up. He felt _so _cold—his muscles had turned brittle. And his stomach felt like water.

"We've come in peace," Loki said. "About a matter of grave urgency. We wish to speak to Laufey's lieutenant."

The other Jotuns murmured. The lead giant's expression flickered, then he frowned.

"His lieutenant?"

Loki hesitated, feeling like the ground was slipping beneath his feet. He braced himself, and gambled.

"It is common knowledge among the realms that Laufey is missing. Perhaps dead," he stated. "Therefore, we wish to speak to his right-hand-man, his steward."

"Yes," the giant answered without hesitation. His frown deepened. "Therefore, if I permit you to see anyone—you will see the king."

Loki felt Thor stiffen. His own gaze sharpened.

"The king?"

The lead giant smirked.

"In fact…" he ventured. "I believe he might find you entertaining." He lowered his arms and lifted his head. "I am Alfrid, son of Fundon, captain of the king's guard. You will follow me."

Alfrid turned and marched toward the craggy outcropping and the other Jotuns.

Loki did not dare glance back at his companions. Thor stepped up close behind him, and he heard Tony, Steve and Logan follow suit. Trying not to let his breathing accelerate, Loki started after Alfrid.

The captain led the five up a narrow, jagged path through the icy rocks. The other Jotuns silently fell in beside and behind the small group. Tony's joints hummed rhythmically as he walked, and every boot except Loki's crunched on the frost-packed earth.

"Where did you drop us?" Thor whispered in Loki's ear.

"Not far from Heimdall's usual place," Loki answered, his attention fixed on Alfrid's back.

"But we are not heading toward Laufey's throne," Thor murmured. Loki shook his head once.

"No, we are not."

The Jotuns snapped their teeth, and shot wary glances at them as they glided next to them through the mist.

"I'm gonna have to disagree with you, Logan," Steve muttered. "I don't like this place at all."

For the rest of the way, they remained silent. Alfrid led them steadily onwards and upwards…

Until a sheer, looming blue cliff, and a black, chasm-like cave yawned before them.

Loki stopped. So did the other men. The Jotuns halted, and watched them.

Alfrid paused, and turned to glance at Loki.

"The king is within," he said. "He will not come out to you."

"What if you just want us to come in there so you can cook us and eat us?" Logan countered. Alfrid grinned.

"You came to us," he said. "We will do with you as we please."

"I don't really like the sound of that," Tony hissed under his breath.

"We have no choice," Loki snapped. "And we are running out of time." Without another word, he started forward. Still smirking, Alfrid faced the cave again, and entered it. Holding his breath, Loki plunged into the darkness, the other men on his heels.

The next moment, Alfrid snapped his fingers—

And a bright blue light illuminated over his head. It floated by his right ear, and gave light to the tall, round-walled tunnel all around them. Loki stared at the light, caught by its radiance—and something deep inside him shifted.

They continued on through the interminable darkness for what felt like an age, the only sound being their breathing and echoing footsteps. And then…

Loki heard something.

A steady beat. Like drums.

And a dancing flute.

And low voices chanting.

The scent of smoke reached him, laced with the smolder of cooking meat. The ceiling of the tunnel now fogged with grey tendrils of fumes. The tunnel opened up…

Into a vast chamber with an arched ceiling supported by countless rows of giant-sized pillars.

The depths of the weathered stone of the pillars and walls shimmered with subdued silver. A skilled, ancient hand had hewn intricate, interconnected knots across every surface, each mark a handbreadth deep. The winding lines never broke—they flowed endlessly up and far overhead, weaving back and forth like an immovable tapestry. Runes stepped through the knots which, as Loki gazed, glittered like the most fantastic jack frost he had ever seen. Countless ages of smoke had tainted the mercurial ceiling to a glimmering coal, and blue light from the sapphire flames of hanging torches danced across the surfaces of all.

Hundreds of Jotuns sat, lounged or stood in groups around massive carven tables and upon thick furs. The air hung heavy with the aroma of food and drink and flame. Opposite the newcomers, in the center of the long room, stood a fire pit that blazed with sparking, flashing flames that flickered more ardently than any in Asgard. Across it hung a rugged iron spit, upon which a large, skinned beast slowly turned. To one side of the spit sat a group of five giants beating wide black drums and playing ice flutes—all of the rest of the Jotuns swayed in time with the music. They hummed to themselves, making the air itself thrum against Loki's breastbone. None of those feasting had noticed their entrance.

The song ended. The Jotuns roared and clapped their hands. Then, they turned their faces toward the other end of the chamber and shouted some sort of repeated request—but Loki could not make it out.

But he did finally see that one more giant waited across the fire.

A throne, crafted from living rock, stood as a pillar itself—a pillar with a seat and broad, bone-like armrests. And in it, a young Jotun sat back, his elbow propped on one of the rests. He wore a tarnished silver breastplate and belt, and an ornate loincloth. But Loki could not see the definite features of his face because of the flashing fire. The giant held up his hand.

The room quieted. In front of Loki, Captain Alfrid waited—and mercifully, Thor, Logan, Steve and Tony decided to remain silent.

The giant on the throne sat up. He lowered his head. He took a deep breath.

He began to sing.

And Loki's heart stopped.

"_Skies of marble, hard as stone_

_Snow flies not on barren moor_

_Wind moans in a thunder voice_

_The quicksilver prince is lost."_

He had a deep, effortless, mournful voice—and as he sang, the others quietly began to join in, until the cavern itself resounded with their soft, slow, fathomless tones.

"_Fairest son of fairest house_

_ Silver and lightning, he_

_ Frost in the heights called him by name_

_ Water lay still in his hand._

_ Night came a-sudden, thief-like it crept_

_ Swept under door and over the lintel_

_ Fire's breath caught—out like an eyeblink_

_ Then vanished the silver, the lightning—the sun._

_ Wail, ye gusts through the mountains_

_ Thy master left thee roaming_

_ Clouds billow, wild; blizzard unbridled_

_ Ice locks the bones of the heim in decay_

_ Weep for him stolen_

_ Weep for him dead_

_ Weep for the hills and moorlands abandoned_

_ Weep for the kinsmen who have forgotten his name_

_ Weep for the quicksilver prince."_

Silence fell after this song—no applause followed. Loki could barely breathe—though he had no idea why.

Alfrid cleared his throat. Loki started, and blinked rapidly, and swallowed.

"My king," Alfrid announced. "I bring visitors."

The Jotuns all turned their heads toward the newcomers. Their red eyes bored into them. None of them made a single sound.

"Visitors?" the giant on the throne repeated, speaking quietly and deliberately. "Fascinating. Bring them here."

Alfrid started forward. Loki tried to unlock his knees. Finally, he succeeded, and followed. The others' footsteps sounded on the hard surface—especially Tony's. They wove through the seated Jotun, and Loki forced himself not to look at any of them. He felt the edge of his cape brush across some of their shoulders and arms. He resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

At last, the five men stood before the throne, which sat up on a slight pedestal. Alfrid bowed low at the waist, and spoke.

"My king," he said. "May I present the princes of Asgard and the princes of Midgard."

Loki's gaze flashed to Alfrid in surprise, then darted to the face of the Jotun king.

And again, he was rendered motionless.

This Jotun seemed smaller than the others. His body was lean, lithe. His narrow, angular face bore even fewer deep lines than Alfrid's. If his skin tone had been more akin to an Aesir's, his features might have even been called handsome. But Loki caught all this peripherally.

For at first, he could see nothing but the king's brilliant green eyes.

Eyes radiating emerald color—almost incandescent—catching the flicker of the fire as well as revealing a black depth in the pupils that penetrated through to Loki's marrow. And striking a shadowy, fathomless place somewhere behind his breastbone.

The king's brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed as he gazed back at Loki. Absently, Loki realized that neither he nor the king were breathing.

"The princes of Asgard," the king finally said, lowly. "And of Midgard. To what do we owe this great honor?"

Loki cleared his throat, fighting back a flood of shame. He had let his mind go—his guard had dropped to almost nothing and he _had _to get it back.

"As we told your captain," Loki said, nodding toward Alfrid. "We have come in peace."

"That is the most fascinating part of all of this," the king noted. "For you are Loki the Tricksmith, and I see you have brought Thor Fell-Hammer with you."

Snickering noises issued from the other Jotun. Thor must have sensed Loki's weakness—he stepped up behind him, almost touching him. Loki did not even glance at him, and strove to keep his expression clear. The king held up his hand to the court without taking his attention from Loki.

"For now, let us say that I believe you, and you do not wish to fight," the king ventured. "I must assume, instead, that you wish to ask something of me."

"Yes, your majesty," Loki admitted. "We do come to ask a favor—though it would also be a favor you would grant yourself, and your people."

The king's vivid eyes narrowed again.

"Speak quickly."

"I will, your majesty," Loki said—then braced himself. "In private."

"Absolutely not," Alfrid barked. "The king will _not _make himself vulnerable to—"

"Thor will hand Mjollnir over to you," Loki cut in, looking nowhere but at the king. "And your guards may kill him and my brethren if I so much as lift my hand against you."

The king's eyes flashed. Thor and the others shifted in shock. Loki's fingers closed to fists.

"See how sincerely I wish to speak to you, your majesty," he murmured tightly. "For I would never offer up the lives of these men unless I possessed almost certain knowledge that these lives will be forfeit if you do not hear me."

For a long moment, the king said nothing.

Then, at last, he lifted a finger.

"Take their weapons," he ordered. "And un-armor the scarlet and silver man."

"Hey, just a second—" Tony protested.

"I will speak to you in my chambers, Tricksmith," the king finished, eyeing Loki. Loki turned to Thor—whose face betrayed only a millimeter of the dismay he buried below. But the next moment, he was reluctantly forced to hand over his mighty hammer to Captain Alfrid.

Loki glanced forward again—to see the king's form vanishing into a far door.

"Follow him, Asgardian," Alfrid growled. "And remember—our knives are poised at your brothers' throats."

Loki did not answer. Silently, he stepped past the dais and swept after the king.

He passed through a high, narrow door, and found himself in a much smaller room. The walls were made of black polished stone, the floor was covered in luxurious furs, and a heaping bed of them lay in the opposite corner. Chests and carved boxes sat in piles, and a rack of short, pointed weapons hung on the left hand wall. Torches flickered on the walls, giving everything a whitish-blue tint.

Loki did not turn when he heard the door slide shut behind him.

The room fell quiet.

The king was seated again, in a slighter throne directly across from Loki, up on a shorter dais. He waited, his arms spread on the rests.

"My guards wait just outside, to make certain you keep your promise," the king reminded him.

"You need not fear me," Loki said. "Not today."

The king canted his head.

"Come closer, son of Odin," he urged. "Let me see your face when you speak."

Loki obeyed, then stopped perhaps fifteen feet in front of the throne. The king fell silent, his eyes on Loki.

Loki drew himself up, and clasped his cold hands in front of him.

"You are in grave danger," Loki finally declared. "As are all the rest of the realms. They are in desperate need of help. I have come to ask you to assist me and my band of brothers travel to Asgard to give this help."

The king's gaze knifed through Loki.

"Do explain."

"A powerful sorcerer from Midgard has created a bifrost bridge," Loki answered. "And less than an hour ago, he and an army of Skrull passed through it—to Asgard. He wishes to steal my father's omnipotent tesseract, and with it rule all nine realms. Including Jotunheim."

The king studied Loki for a long while.

"What proof can you give me of this 'danger'?" he demanded.

"Our presence here," Loki said. "You must know of the feud between my father and Laufey, and the sea of blood spilled long ago between our peoples. We would not risk coming here for any other purpose. Even Laufey would see this—and he would do what was needed to protect Jotunheim and his people."

"Do not speak to me of Laufey or his purposes or intentions," the king snapped—his tone shivered through the room. His eyes blazed. "I neither ascribe to his ideals nor heed his fallen wisdom." His hand closed into a fist. "For countless ages, though his kingdom was decaying, he incited fruitless wars, seeking easy conquest and plunder, heedless of the kinsmen he sent to slaughter. And he further wasted his people in his pride-feud with Odin—ancient Jotun places and halls of records were destroyed in the battles. Along with numberless families. Lost forever."

Loki stared at him, thrown. He searched for something to say—but when the king met his eyes again, the king kept speaking.

"When he left with his brothers to slay the All-Father in his bed, I knew it was a trap—though I did not know who had laid it. I still do not," the king said. "But Laufey was foolish enough not to see the snare. And then Odin, after seeing Laufey's intent, retaliated, nearly splitting Jotunheim in half. And he was right to do it."

Loki mentally jolted.

"Right?" Loki repeated. The king glanced at him and lifted an eyebrow.

"Laufey was killed trying to murder Odin. We are certain of this. And no king could let such treachery go unpunished." The king's expression turned dark and deadly and distant. "Laufey deserved what he received."

"You lost someone."

The presumptuous words just fell out of Loki's mouth. He didn't even recall thinking them. But he instantly regretted them.

However, the king merely looked back at him—and the fire faded from his eyes.

"Yes, I did. My brother," he murmured. "He shared the womb with me—he was born first." The king sat up straighter. "Though, I did not lose him in battle. All my life, the story I had heard from my mother was that, since we had been born in the middle of a war, and my brother was the heir, he had been hidden with a commoner's family to be raised in secret, lest the enemy discover him and kill him. Often, I would dream of what my brother's life was like—sometimes I even thought I had visions of him riding through the sunlight, or lighting fire with his hands, or fighting wild beasts…" He swallowed. Then, the spark returned to the king's gaze. "But one night, after the war had ended—and my brother had failed to reappear, I heard my father and mother talking. And my father, in a drunken stupor, let the truth slip." The king arched a cold eyebrow. "He had not hidden my brother. He had left him as an infant on the stone floor of the ruined temple, exposed to wind and ice. He was too small, Father said. A runt, a weakling. Ulrik will be a better king, he said. A warrior, a Jotun." The king ground his teeth. "He had not hidden my brother. He had killed him. My mother's heart broke—she died soon after hearing his words."

Loki could not move. He could not breathe, he could not see. Everything in him had lifted and locked, while a pressure greater than a ton of granite sat upon his chest. He forgot the others in the room behind him—even Thor. He could focus on nothing but the Jotun king—the king called Ulrik.

_Ulrik_…

The name echoed through the depths of him, as if he had heard it a thousand times, _said _it a thousand times—though he knew he never had, not once.

And all of a sudden, the king gazed back at him, unsettled, his expression open and quiet.

"You seem to have cast a spell over me, Aesir prince," Ulrik murmured, never taking his eyes from Loki's. "I have told you a great deal more than I ought. Yet you have pulled it out of me. Without saying a word."

"I meant no disrespect," Loki whispered, his throat closing. "But I…I confess, I cannot seem to keep my wits about me, either."

Silence covered the room.

Then, when Ulrik drew a breath, it traveled through Loki's bones like wind through barley.

"Who are you?" Ulrik asked—soft, straightforward and guileless. "I have never seen you—yet I feel as though I have. In fact…I feel as though I know you." His brow furrowed, as if in pain, and he looked at Loki earnestly. "Who are you?"

Loki took a breath—it hurt, it _hurt_, to the very reaches of his soul. Tears stung his eyes.

"Loki," he rasped. "Laufeyson."

Neither one moved.

Loki's heart skipped a beat. Then another.

Suddenly, Ulrik leaped to his feet.

He froze, poised on the edge of the platform. He stared, wide-eyed at Loki.

Loki stared back.

Slowly, breathlessly, Ulrik lowered one foot down to Loki's level. Then the other foot. At last, he stood before him. Ulrik was only a head taller than Loki—short for a Jotun, and slender.

Neither of them stirred for countless moments.

Then, they reached toward each other.

Both of them twitched back, startled at their simultaneous movement.

They hesitated.

They met each other's eyes.

And with equal resolution, they grabbed hands, hard.

For an instant, nothing happened.

Then, ice so cold it burned rushed through Loki's fingertips and up his arm, surging toward his heart. The color of his hand rippled, darkened, and deepened to the same gray-blue shade as Ulrik's.

Loki felt his entire body transform—harden, stiffen—and his temperature plunge. His vision changed—the cavern lightened, and every sense sharpened. He looked up at Ulrik…

Whose whole bearing had filled with stunned awe. Ulrik's gaze swept all over Loki's form. He could not speak.

Loki gulped—it sent an ache through him—and he gritted his teeth and literally battered the coldness back. The ice in his blood reluctantly loosened and melted, his skin softened again, and he felt warmth wash back through his face and chest and gut and legs…

But his head spun, his mind reeled, and his resolve spilled like water through a sieve. And inside, his very soul tore and twisted, blackly churning—it took all his will just to keep conscious and keep breathing.

Only Ulrik's hand held him fast.

"How…" Ulrik gasped, gripping Loki's fingers like a lifeline and searching his face. "How is this possible?"

"He left me…in the temple," Loki said, scrambling to grasp at the chaff of scattered memory. "On the floor. But Odin…He found me. After the battle. He took me home. Raised me in Asgard."

Ulrik's gaze flicked to the door for just an instant, then returned, as if summoned, to Loki.

"Why?" Ulrik demanded.

The word echoed through Loki's being—the desperate curiosity, the panic…

It was _so _familiar…

"He…He wanted to unite the kingdoms," Loki managed, though something kept blurring his vision. "To bring an alliance—a permanent peace. Through me."

"And you knew this?" Ulrik pressed, watching his face. "You knew where you had come from?"

Loki shook his head.

"No. Not until a year ago."

Ulrik's hand tightened further on Loki's.

"Then you…" Ulrik started, then his voice broke. He swallowed hard. "_You_ are my brother."

Tears tumbled down Loki's face. He had no idea where they had come from—he felt them trail down his cheeks and fall from his chin. He closed his eyes. And he nodded.

His balance swam. He swayed.

"You are in pain," Ulrik realized. "Are you wounded? Come, sit—"

"No," Loki choked, and pulled free of Ulrik's hand as something like grief—or shame—surged through him. "You mustn't…"

"Prince, what is wrong?" Ulrik pressed.

Loki's vision blurred so badly he could barely make out the colors of the furs on the floor.

"I cannot…" he began in a rush, his pulse hammering. "My heart is full and I cannot bear to fathom it now." He held up a hand. "And if you knew half of what I have done and what I have tried to do…" He lifted his watery eyes to Ulrik's and plunged. "You called me a tricksmith—and so I have been. I deserve nothing from you, but I will beg it from you anyway." He sucked in a tearing breath. "I am not here to bargain or lay claims to your throne—I am here to make a single request. This sorcerer had my child killed before my eyes and he now holds my wife captive, along with the women of the men outside your door. He is on the threshold of destroying everything I hold dear, and the nine realms besides. And I cannot fight him alone. He swore he would kill the women if we followed him to Asgard by bifrost. I can move between realms myself, but I cannot take more than one person with me—and my strength has failed. This sorcerer would be my undoing should we meet." Loki tried to take another breath—Ulrik stood silent, listening.

Loki lifted his shaking hands.

He passed them over each other.

Light flashed.

And the glowing Jotun ice casket floated between his palms.

"The casket…" Ulrik breathed, his stunned features illumined in the glow.

"This belongs to you," Loki managed, not touching it. "I have used it twice, but I cannot direct its power for long—I don't know its magic. Take it." He held it out, turning his face away. "Take it and send my fellows and me to Asgard—that is all I ask."

Ulrik said nothing. And he did not move.

Loki's face twisted. He shut his eyes, swallowed hard, and knelt down on the floor in front of Ulrik, lifting the casket up.

"I am utterly at your mercy," he whispered. "Please."

Loki stayed completely still.

Then, the casket lifted up out of his grasp. Loki lowered his hands but did not raise his face.

Ulrik moved. He knelt down right in front of Loki. They sat level.

And Ulrik reached out and rested his hand softly on the side of Loki's head.

"I can do better than that, brother," Ulrik said.

Loki glanced up at him through his tears, startled. Ulrik half smiled.

"We are coming with you."

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	19. Chapter 19

_You know I love you;) I do, I do.:))_

_For the FIRST section, I listened to the Thor Soundtrack "Odin Confesses" and "Loki's Lie." _

_For the SECOND section, I listened to the Thor Soundtrack "Laufey."_

_For the THIRD section, I listened to "Laufey" again, then the Hobbit Trailer (Dwarf Song) Misty Mountains, IMMEDIATELY followed by Peter Pan-14-I "Do Believe in Fairies," then "Requiem for a Dream."_

_Enjoy!_

_VVVVV_

Chapter 19

"_You are now at a crossroads._

_This is your opportunity to make the most important decision you will ever make._

_Forget your past._

_Who are you now?_

_Who have you decided to become?"_

_-Anthony Robbins_

Thor stood stiffly next to the fire and the carcass that turned on the spit, bereft of Mjollnir. Steve also no longer wore his sidearm, and Tony stood in just his black jumpsuit, his armor folded into a box at his feet. The Jotuns had been unable to decide how to disarm Logan, however. So the four of them stood close together, completely surrounded in the quiet banquet hall, just waiting.

"I don't like this," Logan muttered.

"_You _don't like this?" Tony shot back, his arms wrapped around his chest. "They let you keep your coat—I'm freezing to death."

Thor let out a short breath. The vapor of it rose into the air. He had no idea how the fire could be blazing just feet away and yet the air still be so cold. He glanced around, his jaw tightening.

Ten Jotun warriors, their arms clad in razor-sharp ice dirks, stood in a circle around them, their eyes never leaving the Avengers' faces. Captain Alfrid stood a few paces off, his arms folded, Mjollnir stuffed into his belt. Thor glanced past him for the hundredth time at the door where Loki had disappeared. He fought back a sharp twinge that traveled down his throat. The hall remained totally silent—silent as midnight on the winter solstice.

The door flew open. Thor, Steve, Logan and Tony jumped. And two figures strode out.

The Jotun king led, taking long, sweeping steps—but Loki, completely unharmed, kept pace with him, his cape billowing behind. Together, they crossed around the pillar throne and stood before it, in the full light of all the torches and the fire. The king held one hand behind his back—and his features beamed. But Loki—Loki had gone death white.

Thor's heart beat faster.

Then, across the distance, Loki turned his head and looked at Thor—right at him.

And something inside Thor's ribcage clamped like an iron vise.

"My people!" the king shouted—his voice carried like thunder through the whole chamber. "I bring you glad news—gladder news than we have received in many an age."

The Jotuns frowned, turned toward their ruler, watched him carefully, listening. Thor tore his attention away from Loki and forced himself to hearken to the king.

"You know the lies Laufey told you," the king went on. "When he told you that he had _hid_ my elder twin brother upon his delivery, sheltered him with a common family to be safe until the war's end." The king lifted his chin. His expression turned ugly. "You also know the truth that I and my mother revealed to you: that Laufey had not kept his word, but instead left my brother on the stone floor of the temple in the midst of a storm and Asgardian onslaught, to be killed. Because of his smallness. He did this to his own son. _Our prince_."

The Frost Giants hissed in condemnation.

Loki's gaze skittered away and his head bowed. His fists clenched.

Thor's blood ran cold.

"But, my people…" the king said, his features softening. "Laufey has been foiled once more."

Tony, Steve and Logan's confusion swirled around Thor's head. The Jotuns perked up, holding their breath.

Thor _couldn't _breathe.

"For you see," the king went on, almost smiling. "After the battle, Odin All-Father of Asgard entered the temple where my brother had been abandoned—and he found him. Odin knew who he was. And yet, he did not slay him. Instead, he took him home to Asgard—and raised him alongside his own son, Thor Fell-Hammer."

The king raised a long arm and pointed at Thor.

All Jotun eyes flashed to him. Thor swallowed hard. It felt like glass riddled his throat.

"Thor, what is he talking about?" Steve murmured in his ear. Thor couldn't find the strength to answer, or look anywhere but at the two on the dais.

"Yes, my people—you understand me," the king assured them, giving them a sweeping, level look. "Your eldest prince, my twin brother, was raised as an Aesir, ignorant of the fact that he had kin in this realm who longed for his return. Until today." He turned, and looked at Loki. The Jotuns stared at the two of them, stunned.

The king held out his hand to Loki, palm up.

Loki gazed at it.

Thor's fists closed.

Loki lifted his eyes to the king's…

And grasped his hand.

"Holy _crap_—" Tony gasped.

Loki's hand instantly darkened to an ice-blue. The color then raced up his neck and covered his face. Lines formed on his forehead and cheeks—and his emerald eyes turned _scarlet_.

The Jotuns cried out, covering their mouths with their hands.

Thor's knees and hands went weak and his stomach turned over. Something inside slid down through him from throat to gut like a cold, thin blade through layers of muscle. And he understood none of it.

"Is this a trick?" Logan asked in a low voice—but his tone filled with alarm.

Thor could do nothing but shake his head, once, as he tried to fight through the squall in his mind.

He knew Loki was a Jotun. He had known it since Odin told him, after Loki fell from the bridge.

But Thor had never seen him transform—had never looked at Loki, expecting to see the familiar face his brother, to find it replaced by the savage visage of a Frost Giant.

And he realized that, in his heart of hearts, he had never _really _acknowledged what Loki was.

Never _truly _believed it.

Until now.

And the ground turned to sand beneath his feet.

"But what brought him here, now?" Captain Alfrid wanted to know, staring at Loki's silent form, just as shocked as the rest of them. Thor battled to make his hearing focus, to force himself to swallow the bile in his throat.

"He brings us a warning," the king replied, still gripping Loki's hand. "The vermin Skrulls, lead by a Midgardian sorcerer named Doom, are making a play for the Nine Realms."

Threatened hissing and muttering raced through the Jotun ranks. The king lifted his voice and kept speaking—feeding the unrest as one would feed a fire. "Even as we speak, a war rages in Asgard. My brother believes that the Skrull army will engage Asgard's forces while Doom penetrates the palace weapons vault and attempts to take Odin's famed tesseract. And if he does, my brethren—it will be the end of all of us." The king lowered his head and gave them all a deadly look. "This _must_. Not. Happen."

"Your majesty," Alfrid said carefully. "What are you suggesting?"

The king lifted his chin.

"We must gather our armies and go to their aid."

The Jotuns exploded with argument—with each other, with no one in particular—and the walls echoed with their cries.

"But your majesty," another Jotun shouted over the chaos. "This is _Loki_, the Snaketongue! How can you believe what he says?"

"Because," the king replied. "He has come in good faith—and given us _this_."

Finally, the king brought his left hand out from behind his back…

And held up the glowing Jotun ice casket.

Thor's heart gave one hard pound and his eyes widened.

Everyone instantly went silent.

All eyes fixed on the pulsing box. Time stood still.

Thor was the only one in the room who absently noticed the king releasing Loki's fingers—Loki's appearance gradually faded back to its usual pallor.

"What is that thing?" Tony whispered. Thor couldn't answer—his mouth wouldn't move.

"Is it…Can it be?" an old, weather-beaten Jotun gasped in awe.

"It is," the king nodded. "Here, Harkheld—would you like to see it?" He held it out.

The old Jotun hesitated, then shuffled forward, stretching out his hands. He grasped it—it flashed when he touched it. The Jotuns gasped. Steve winced, and took half a step back.

Harkheld gave a delighted grin, and his eyes lit up.

"It is!" he cried. "I have not been so near it since my youth but…" he lifted it up, delight turning to ecstasy. "It _is!"_

The Jotuns leaped toward him. For a moment, Thor thought they would trample him—but they just pressed near, reaching out toward it, crying out in high, frenzied, excited voices, running their hands across the surfaces of the small casket as it beamed and glowed back at them. The king just watched them.

And Loki, unfailingly, watched the king.

Thor's stomach twisted.

"You believe me now, Alfrid?" the king asked, searching Alfrid's face in a startling, earnest way that Thor almost recognized—if he hadn't been Jotun.

Alfrid pulled himself back slightly from the casket and gazed back at the king.

He nodded.

"Yes, your majesty."

"Then it is settled," the king said, raising his voice so all could hear. The Jotuns paused, and turned to him.

"Our brother has given us back our heart—our lifeblood," the king declared. "In return, he begs us to help him save his own." The king's eyes turned fiery. "We will not abandon him in his hour of need.

An inarticulate roar rose from the Jotuns—a roar of unmistakable agreement. Unspeakable power had suddenly entered their ranks—as if they knew, all at once, that nothing could stop them.

"Captain," the king snapped.

"Yes, my king," Alfrid straightened and faced him.

"Come with me," he instructed as he stepped down from his dais. "You and I will test the fitness of our ancient weapon. Then we will gather our new friends and summon the troops."

"Yes, my king," Alfrid answered.

Reverently, Harkheld handed the casket back to the king, who took it with a deferential bow to his elder. Thor's heart thundered as his bewilderment built.

"What of us?" he demanded, his rough voice cutting through the Jotun murmuring. The king halted mid-step and turned to him.

"Kindly wait for us a moment, Prince Thor," he said simply. "Then we will convene a council to plan our attack."

"Okay, hurry up," Logan advised. "We don't have a lot of time, here."

"I understand," the king nodded, not the least bit offended by Logan's frankness, and he and Captain Alfrid, carrying the casket, swept out of the hall. The next moment he stepped through another door and disappeared.

Thor's eye caught a flicker of movement. He spun—

Just in time to see the edge of Loki's cape flutter around the doorframe of the king's quarters.

"Stay here," he ordered Steve, Tony and Logan, and marched after his brother.

AAAAA

Loki felt lightheaded. And claustrophobic, and dizzy—like the ceiling was falling in on him and there was not enough air, anywhere. His heart fluttered erratically, and his breaths came in short, panicked gasps. The venom scars on his neck and shoulders began to pulse and prickle. He had to get away, get loose—had to get _warm_, before his heart stopped and he froze to death…

He stumbled into Ulrik's fur-covered chambers and groped for something to keep him from falling. His cold, numb right hand fumbled into a stack of wooden trunks and he leaned heavily against it, his eyes shutting against his will. All his muscles twitched, on the edge of losing control. He filled with dread and clamped his jaw. Any moment now he might be sick all over Ulrik's rug. Or collapse. A ghost of a thought crossed his mind: when was the last time he had slept, or eaten anything…?

A sound buzzed against his hearing. He couldn't react—couldn't even lift his head. It resounded again, hurting the left side of his skull. The old impact wound in his chest throbbed…

Then, like a slap to the face, the sound clarified.

"_Loki!" _

He sucked in a breath, blinked open tear-stung eyes and jerked around—

Thor's tall form stood in the doorway, his brilliant gaze slicing right through Loki's. Thor looked as if he had stopped mid-stride, his hands in fists, his expression tightened by a sharp frown.

Loki tried to say his brother's name—but though his lips moved, his throat choked shut. His eyelids flickered and he closed his mouth. Thor was looking at him in a frightening way—like he had never seen him before…

For a moment that stretched like a victim on the rack, the two stood, motionless. Loki's bones ached.

Finally, though it seemed to take effort, Thor's features changed. His frown faded, and his eyebrows drew together as he lowered his head, watching Loki. And when at last he spoke, his voice came out coarse and uneven.

"He is your brother?"

Loki gulped in spasm. A fiery-hot sensation darted down his throat—and settled like a frozen stone in his stomach. Thor's expression became urgent, and he took a step toward Loki.

"Is it true?" Thor whispered, gesturing faintly behind him. "Is that…Is _he_ really…?"

Loki glanced past Thor at the banqueting hall, unable to summon enough breath to even say the one word required. He could only look back at Thor, and try to keep standing.

But he didn't have to speak. Thor read his face. His eyes flashed, his lips parted, and he took three deep, sharp breaths. He swallowed hard, turned away for a moment…

Then looked back at Loki. His gaze turned hard.

"Your _real _brother."

"Thor…" Loki tried again, but still made no sound.

"Did you know?" Thor demanded through his teeth.

Loki was thrown. He blinked, his eyebrows twitching together.

"H…How would I know?" he managed jaggedly, pain shooting out from the center of his chest.

"Is that why you brought us here?" Thor pressed. "To use this to reclaim your right as king of Jotunheim?"

"_What?_" Loki cried, his mind reeling as he tried to fathom the chaos of Thor's reaction.

Thor didn't answer. His expression flickered and he paled, as if something terrible had occurred to him.

"Did you know when the bifrost..." he trailed off, and stared at Loki. But he did not have to finish.

A violent blue flash, like a lightning bolt, shot across Loki's memory. It blinded him, then froze him in place just as the power of the bifrost had taken an icy choke-hold on the bridge and knifed toward Jotunheim. If Thor hadn't…

Loki's eyes closed.

If Thor hadn't broken the bridge, Ulrik's heart would have stopped. His body would have been wrenched to pieces, his bones blasted into splinters and his being snuffed out…

And inside Loki's soul, a vast pit would have gaped—black, reasonless and swallowing. It would have torn him in half, and he wouldn't have known why.

His stomach rolled, and he pressed his hand over his mouth.

Oh, no—now he _was _going to be sick.

"My princes?"

Thor leaped back from the door and scrabbled at his belt for Mjollnir—which was not there. Loki jerked up, opened his eyes and swallowed hard four times, acid biting his throat.

Captain Alfrid towered in the doorway, still carrying Mjollnir, glancing down at both of them. His brow furrowed as he took in their expressions. But he kept his questions to himself, and straightened his shoulders.

"Forgive me, but I come with a message," he rumbled.

"What?" Thor demanded.

"My king requests your presence," Alfrid said. "He is going to open a window and look out on Asgard."

Loki's eyes flashed to Thor's—Thor returned the startled look.

"Come," Alfrid waved to them, and turned and left, the ground shaking as he moved. Without another word—though the silence tangled and twisted between them—Thor and Loki stepped through the door and followed the Frost Giant.

AAAAA

Loki followed numbly, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, as he, Thor and Captain Alfrid crossed the floor of the huge, now-abandoned feasting hall. Steve, Logan and Tony left their place near the throne and hurried up to them, falling into stride alongside and instantly breaking the silence.

"Okay, Loki—what's going on?" Tony demanded, pressing close to Loki's left side. He was shivering, one hand clamped around his suit case. "I think I must have missed several chapters of your backstory somewhere or something—but I am _really _freaking confused."

"That's nothing," Steve muttered grimly from the other side of Thor. "I don't even know what planet I'm on."

"The king is…your brother?" Tony said—Loki felt him watching him hard. "But isn't he like…another species or something?"

"He is Jotun," Loki murmured—his voice sounded like someone else was talking. "So am I."

"Well, that's news to me," Tony declared.

"What, like that _means _something to you?" Logan shot back, leaning around Steve for a moment to frown at Tony. "You didn't even know what a Jotun was until a couple minutes ago—you still don't."

"Loki was adopted by my father," Thor growled. Loki glanced at him—Thor's eyes were fixed on Alfrid's broad back.

"He found him after the final battle," Thor went on. "Father did not tell him what he was until long after he was grown."

"So you didn't know you had a brother here?" Steve said, his blue eyes alarmed. "You didn't…Weren't you curious about whether or not you might have other family?"

Loki gazed, unfocused, at the long corridor they passed into, and Alfrid's back.

Curious? No, that would not have been the right word to describe his feelings then…

"The Jotuns were our enemies," Loki whispered, hardly able to see. "We were…afraid of them."

Alfrid's head tilted, but he did not look back down at Loki.

Stiff silence fell between the five of them. Finally, Logan cleared his throat.

"I'm just gonna pretend this part was all a dream."

Tony snorted.

"Yeah, good plan."

Steve remained quiet, and studied Loki in concern. And Thor wouldn't look at him.

They wound through a labyrinth of dimly-lit, blue tunnels, then came to a passage of vast steps. Alfrid, of course, strode straight up. Those following filled with apprehension as they paused at the foot. Each stair came up to Loki's waist.

Thor had no trouble with them—he just leaped from stair to stair. Loki's muscles felt weak, and he could not move as fast—so he turned to help Tony clamber up each one, hefting his suit case as he went, trying not to get tangled in Loki's cape. Steve also had to turn and lend a hand to Logan who, though athletic and powerful, seemed to be unusually heavy.

Together, the five of them struggled up the seemingly-endless staircase, Alfrid pausing several times as they caught up. The higher they climbed, the colder the air became—and several sudden blasts cut through Loki's hair and armor. Weak light gleamed far above.

At long last, they came to a narrow landing—the five men straightened, panting and weak-feeling, standing before a great door that led outside. Captain Alfrid looked at them.

"Come," he said, and strode outside.

Thor did not hesitate—he followed. Loki gritted his teeth, and stepped after him. Tony, looking very pale now, came on his heels, with Steve and Logan behind.

The next moment, Loki stepped out into what looked like the vast, steely sky.

Ulrik stood out near the edge of a limitless height, and beyond him stretched the dark, jagged, snow-shrouded, endless landscape of Jotunheim. Wind knifed through to Loki's skin, making his eyes water. All of their boots crunched on the rough ice.

Alfrid strode out easily and halted next to his slighter king, who stood with his back to the edge of the cliff, facing them. Before him, an ancient stone pedestal rose up from the ground, the runes and markings upon its base encrusted with ages of frost. And he had placed the ice casket upon it—it glowed and flickered like a torch behind sapphire glass. Snow fluttered through the air, stinging the skin of Loki's cheeks.

But when Ulrik turned his head and caught sight of him, he _smiled_—and a shocking sensation of warmth guttered in Loki's chest.

"Come here, brother," he called, and beckoned to him with a clawed hand. Loki could do nothing but obey. He drew near the pedestal and stopped across from Ulrik, fighting to ignore the dizzying height at which they stood. He winced, and cast a sideways glance out at the horizon—a horizon he could not see, for the fog and the heavy clouds that skulked around the heads and shoulders of the teeth-like mountains.

"You don't like it here," Ulrik observed. Loki pulled his attention back to Ulrik—whose emerald eyes sparkled in amusement. Loki cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

"It's all right," Ulrik held up a hand, almost chuckling. "Why would you?"

Loki cleared his throat again, and risked a glance at Thor.

Thor was scowling out at the distant hills. The other men hung back, their brows furrowed, their eyes shifting.

"I need your help, brother," Ulrik said again—as if he enjoyed the feel of that word in his mouth. Loki turned back to him. Ulrik raised his eyebrows.

"Put your hand on one side of the casket, and I will put my hand on the other."

"What are we doing?" Loki asked, the arctic wind tossing his hair.

"We are clearing the sky," Ulrik answered, surprised. "You don't imagine that Jotunheim has always looked like _this_, do you?"

Loki stared at him, bewildered. Ulrik gave him a mysterious smile, then reached down with his left hand and grasped one side of the casket.

Hesitating, Loki reached out his own left hand and took hold of the other side. He watched his twin carefully, struck by the odd feeling that he was looking in a mirror.

Loki's hand went cold—but the ice didn't travel up his arm and shoot through him like an arrow this time.

Instead, the light inside the casket began to burn.

And then…

It lit up.

It lit up the cliffside, lit up their faces and Alfrid's and the faces of the other men in a white shine. Loki gasped, stunned, as his hand was consumed with radiance, as was Ulrik's.

All at once, blazing light shot straight up from the casket, up, up into the sky, slicing through the mist and snow and then the steely clouds—

And the clouds split in half like an earthquake in the sky—like a seam wrenched apart by two mighty hands. And Loki had to throw his right hand up to keep his eyes from being blinded by—

_Sunlight_.

Pure, sheer, golden sunlight blasted through the clouds and spilled across the cliff and down its jagged sides to the surrounding hills like the Great Deluge, rippling and streaming and almost frothing through the snow that whirled in the air—

Transforming the entire realm into a vast universe of glittering, sun-soaked sugar and diamonds.

The clouds kept fleeing in every direction like a routed army, to the farthest reaches of the skies, until they disappeared over the farthest mountains. The sun blazed overhead, brilliant and mighty, enthroned in a vibrant blue field as endless as the sea. The snowflakes that still danced in the air, caught by the wind, flashed and glimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. A tear fell down Loki's face—he couldn't account for it, and he didn't heed it. Everyone else stared upward, then all around them, mouths open, eyes wide.

Ulrik let out a ringing laugh.

"See it, Alfrid!" he crowed, turning to his captain, who grinned back at him.

"Yes, my king," Alfrid nodded, his gaze sweeping across the blazing white landscape.

"I knew it—I _knew _it," Ulrik said, nodding hard, his voice catching. He took a deep, bracing breath, then lifted his eyes to the sky. "Now…Show us Asgard!"

A new shaft of light, like lightning, launched upward, toward the blue sky—

And cut right through it. Loki's heart hammered as the shaft cut like a knife through the blue, opening a wide hole to the blackness of open space—and burning galaxies, twisting nebula and glimmering stars beyond.

The next instant, golden forms swam and blurred in that vast window, and Loki squinted, trying to focus…

"The mountains!" Thor shouted. "The mountains behind the palace! It is Asgard!"

Loki's hand gripped the casket hard. The wind whirled, hurricane-like, around them.

Slowly, the images focused…

And at last Loki could see it.

The green fields of Elheimmer, where he and Thor and Balder had ridden their horses as boys…

But now clouds rolled through the sky, and battle tore the earth.

The flashing armies of Asgard in their armor and weapons of gold and silver blazed like lines of mercury—while the Skrulls, like swarms of locusts, battered their ranks—and their fighter ships swooped low, raking the Aesir lines with firepower, lighting the foliage aflame, sending smoke reeling into the air and flinging charred bodies like kindling.

Loki's transformation completed—swallowed him—he stood in full Jotun form before Ulrik, his fingers clenched on the casket.

"Alfrid," Ulrik said tightly, his eyes fixed on the heavens. "Gather your generals. We are going to the aid of Asgard."

"Yes, my king."

AAAAA

Sif took a deep breath, then another, and closed her eyes for a moment, searching her memory.

She stood in the deepest darkness possible—wet, black, and cold.

Never before had she even considered what it would be like to be a prisoner of the royal Aesir. Now, she found she had a great deal of sympathy for them. But, unlike them—

She would not be trapped here for long.

"Where are we?" Pepper whispered from right behind her. Sif felt the other women shift in the darkness. Romanov had hastily flung all four of them into the smallest cell in the palace dungeons and slammed the door in Sif's face.

"We are five levels below the throne room," Sif answered, keeping her eyes shut in concentration.

"What's happening out there?" Marie wondered.

"Fighting," Jane murmured. She sounded she was being held together by very weak threads. But at least she was speaking.

"But it's been hours since Doom broke us in here," Marie answered.

"Battles can last for days, weeks," Sif sighed. "Years."

"_Years?" _Pepper repeated.

"Better than the alternative," Jane muttered absently.

"What do you mean?" Marie asked.

"The last thing we want is this to be over quickly," Sif replied, her right hand absently tracing the icy metal of the door. "It would mean that everything is lost."

No one spoke for a long while. Finally, Pepper took a breath.

"I know why Doom brought us in here. He and Romanov didn't go back out to the Skrull army."

"No," Marie agreed. "He's in here, looking for the Cube."

"None of the guards will see him coming," Jane breathed. "Not if he can appear and disappear from one room to the other like this…"

"I doubt even the new Destroyer will hold him," Sif growled, her forehead tightening.

"So what are we going to do?" Marie asked. "We can't just let him find it—we have to get out of here!"

"We can't," Jane said. "The doors are locked with magic. Only Odin or the Royal Warden can open them."

"Or…" Sif murmured.

All of the other women went still.

"Or what?" Pepper demanded.

"Long, long ago," Sif began, knocking the cobwebs away from her memories. "A terrible tragedy befell the royal family. Odin and Frigg's youngest son, Balder, planned to kill his two older brothers and take the throne. Loki learned of it, but he could not tell anyone for fear Balder would find out and kill them unexpectedly in their beds. So he tried to break the spells of protection surrounding Balder—but instead he accidentally killed him."

Jane sucked in a deep, jagged breath.

"I…I never knew _he_…!"

Sif ignored her and continued.

"Loki was blamed for murder and punished severely—but Heimdall, who sees everything, knew the truth."

"Is there a point to this story?" Pepper asked.

"The point is that Loki knew Balder would try to kill _Heimdall_ as well, to silence him," Sif said. "So Loki hid Heimdall in a safe place, so he could bear witness to Loki's innocence. He hid him in the fifth cell on the right. And it would only open with certain magic words—nothing else."

All the women stopped breathing.

"Are…Are we…" Marie gasped.

"It is worth a try," Sif decided. She drew herself up, squeezed her eyes shut…

She spoke.

"Thor lives."

For an instant, nothing happened—and her heart plummeted.

Then…

The latch flew.

And the door eased silently open.

_To be continued…_

_Review, my dears!_


	20. Chapter 20

_So sorry for the long absence! This thing called "life" kept getting in my way. :P Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Thank you, in advance!_

_For this chapter, I listened to "Requiem for a Tower," followed by "The Chronicles of Narnia The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe Soundrack-The Battle."_

Chapter 20

"_My brothers!_

_I see in your eyes the same fear_

_That would take the heart of me!_

_A day may come when the courage of men fails,_

_When we forsake our friends_

_And break all bonds of fellowship,_

_But it is not this day._

_An hour of wolves_

_And shattered shields_

_When the age of men comes crashing down,_

_But it is not this day._

_This day we fight!_

_By all that you hold dear  
On this good earth_

_I bid you stand,_

_Men of the West!"_

_- Return of the King__  
_

Fandral had always been an optimist. He enjoyed the art of war—the flashing, deadly dance of battle—and he was good at it. For eons, time and again, he, Thor, Volstaag, Hogun, Sif and Loki had plunged headlong into the most impossible skirmishes and emerged victorious. He had never believed in no-win situations, never given credence to the idea that one day he would ride into battle and not come home.

Until tonight.

Heimdall had warned the All-Father that an attack was coming—that the Skrull armies were advancing on Asgard from two directions: one from Midgard via bifrost, the other from the sky via spacecraft. The All-Father, with deep regret, had been forced to acknowledge that his age and weariness would not permit him to lead the charge against the ground attack. In his stead, he had placed the mighty Heimdall at the head of the gleaming Aesir army, with Volstaag, Hogun and Fandral as his generals, each in command of a legion.

Heimdall had told all of Asgard what was happening to the princes and Jane and Sif down on Midgard. Thus, it was with silence and sick hearts, rather than their usual banter and cheer, that the Warriors Three had girded up for battle. Then, they had ordered the constructing of healing tents in the rear, and the preparation of the palace for siege—and the armies of Asgard had marched out, their armor and blades gleaming in the sun.

The foot soldiers had marched first, spears erect, banners fluttering, followed by the rumbling cavalry. Fandral rode at the head of the Illustrious Third—the oldest division in the army, the one Odin had led into battle against the Frost Giants on Midgard ages ago.

As the golden afternoon light had turned to orange and the birds had ceased their singing, the army came to a halt at the edge of the Fields of Elheimmer—a wide open space of green, where the wind blew their hair and cloaks and the sky opened up. The golden towers of Asgard City stood at their backs; thick, thorny forest to their right and left, and the Silver Stairs mountain range on the other side. It was the only place for the Skrulls to land an army—the rest of the land around the palace was either too rugged, too forested or too well-fortified. This field was Asgard's weak point.

All through the night, the army had stood, waiting wordlessly, the only sounds being the jingle of harnesses, the clink of armor, and the wind through the tall grass.

Then, at midnight, when the full moon hung directly overhead…

They had come.

In a billow of green, reeking smoke, hordes of Skrull warriors had materialized opposite the Aesir army. Their scaly skin, yellow eyes and sharp armor gleamed in the pale lunar light—they gnashed their teeth and howled insults, brandishing wicked weapons. Their ranks extended from one side of the field to the other, and Fandral could not see the end of them. And at their head stood a metal man in a long cloak, and a red-headed woman in black leather.

And between them, bound and chained, were Lady Sif, Lady Jane, and two other women.

Fandral's eyes had fixed on Sif and his heart and clenched hard. She stood tall, but her face bore bruises and cuts. The sight of them literally rattled the Aesir armies—only Heimdall remained unmoved.

Then, the metal man had chuckled, taken hold of Sif's wrist—

And all six of them vanished.

The Aesir had no time to recover or contemplate what had just happened. The next instant, with a shrieking, shredding, resounding screech, the Skrulls had bounded toward the Aesir. And Fandral had been unable to do anything but unsheath his weapon and sound the charge.

In the first few adrenaline-flooded minutes of battle, as he swiftly hacked the heads and limbs from the Skrull monsters from atop his horse, Fandral had been certain that the Aesir, with their superior fighting skill and armor, would win out quickly. They were routing the Skrulls—his horse's hooves slipped in dark blood. He had smirked to himself as he cut down yet another Skrull and lifted his eyes to find another target in the seething, silver-lit battlefield. He had known this would be a short party.

But now…

Now, as if out of nowhere, the second Skrull wave appeared.

In all his years, Fandral had never felt anything like it—a pounding, unrelenting pressure as the very air vibrated so hard his teeth rattled. Dark, massive, hawk-like shapes raced by overhead, screaming in a high, deafening tone and a low, bone-breaking thrum.

Fandral's horse spooked. With a violent wrench, he flew off his saddle. He slammed hard onto his side. Gasping, he dragged himself to his feet. He grabbed his left shoulder, then spun around, trying to catch sight of their aerial attackers.

They swooped like valkyries over the battlefield—and from their heads spewed bolts of blue fire that tore through the Aesir ranks, sending men and horses reeling and severed limbs flying. The air filled with the horrifying stench of charred flesh, and the sounds of men and animals screaming. And in the midst of the chaos that the ships wreaked upon the Aesir lines…

The Skrulls seemed to disappear into thin air.

Fandral blinked, then blinked again. For an instant, he thought that the enemy had fled and the Aesir had hardly sustained any casualties at all—their army looked vast. He took a deep breath to regather his troops…

And _right _next to him, a flashing blade hacked the head off of an Aesir warrior.

The head and helmet tumbled to the ground, followed by the sick thud of the body.

Fandral's eyes flashed up—

To see that the blade was held by an Aesir.

Fandral's heart nearly burst.

With an animal roar, Fandral thrust his blade straight through the chink between this traitor's shoulder and breastplate—

And a bleeding, shrieking Skrull collapsed to the ground, eyes wide, weapon falling to the grass.

Fandral's muscles went weak, and his gaze flew back and forth at the sudden disorder and panic that exploded all around him—

The Aesir were fighting _each other!_ Wild-eyed, stumbling backward, forward, parrying recklessly as they were attacked by their golden-helmed brothers, screaming at them, begging them to stay their blows…

Fandral stumbled backward and retreated to a small outcropping of rocks, his mind flying as he wiped icy sweat from his brow…

And then it dawned on him.

When the ships had flown over and strafed the lines, the Skrull foot soldiers had infiltrated, intermingled, and begun to use their greatest—and deadliest—talent.

They had taken on the appearance of Aesir.

As Fandral stared, rendered suddenly helpless, hundreds of Aesir finally struck back at those attacking them, and choking, dying Skrulls tumbled to the ground—

But then, as Fandral watched…

Over and over, two Aesir would engage each other, their weapons blazing in the moonlight—

One would deliver a deadly blow…

And the other would not transform. An Aesir warrior would tumble to the ground, weeping and thrashing. And the killer would grip his helmet in wide-eyed, unhinged horror, and wail at the stars.

Even in the few brief moments Fandral stood stunned, he saw half the Aesir army fall bleeding to the earth. And the other half instantly went mad.

"Heimdall!" Fandral shouted, scrambling to the top of the boulders, his gaze sweeping the mayhem. "_Heimdall!_"

But search as he might, he could not see the golden Aesir guardian.

Perhaps he had fallen.

Fandral's throat closed.

Clanging, clashing, wailing and thudding flooded his hearing, and the flash of the Skrull ships' engines blinded his vision. His eyes unfocused. His body went cold.

And then…

A blast of icy wind raked through his hair and clothing.

He whirled around, raising his sword, his heart pounding…

He frowned hard.

A swirling whirl of blue mist had rolled across the field toward the battle, toward _him,_ towering and churning. And in the midst of it…

Ghostly striding figures took shape.

Then, in the span of an eyeblink, they solidified—clarified.

And Fandral knew them.

Thor, his armor and winged helmet flashing in the moonlight, walked toward him with a powerful, steady gait, Mjollnir in his right hand, his scarlet cape billowing out behind him. At his strong side walked Loki, helmed and vivid-eyed, his armament shimmering. And in stride with the two princes emerged men of a like that Fandral had never seen. One was tall and made entirely of scarlet and silver metal, with narrow eyes of fire. Another blonde man wore thick blue, red and white cloth and bore a round, flashing shield—he had a pure, quiet and fervent face that reminded Fandral of an ancient hero from a feasting story. And the other man reminded him of a wild beast—fierce-browed, scowling—with three long claws protruding from each clenched fist.

Fandral suddenly realized that _these _were the men that Heimdall had described—the warrior men from Midgard who now fought with the princes of Asgard. But how…?

Fandral swallowed hard, trying to keep his balance.

"My lords?" he called.

"Fandral!" Thor called, and quickened his pace. Fandral heard Thor's armor jingle, and his voice sounded rough and immediate in the night air.

Fandral hurried to them, and reached out and grasped Thor's proffered left hand. His prince's grip was warm, calloused, solid—his sapphire eyes bright and focused on his friend's face. Fandral flooded with relief so strong his knees went weak.

"How did you get here?" Fandral gasped.

"It's a long story," Loki answered tightly, glancing past Fandral.

"Where's Doom?" the hero-man asked, watching Fandral carefully.

"I…The metal man? He and the red-headed woman held hold of Sif, Jane and the other two women. They vanished as soon as the Skrulls arrived."

Thor and Loki exchanged a glance.

"They've gone to the palace," Thor gritted.

"Where's the Cube?" the animal-like man demanded of Thor.

"Beneath the throne room," Thor answered. "Guarded by a new Destroyer—"

"That won't stop him," Loki said.

"—and Mother and Father," Thor finished.

They went quiet. The metal man straightened and scanned his surroundings. When he spoke, his voice echoed deeply.

"Okay, this place, compared to the last place…I think I wanna go back. Can we go back?"

"What's going on here?" the hero-man asked, pointing past the rocks.

"The Skrulls," Fandral turned back toward the battle—the battle that had turned to screaming, flailing chaos. He faced Thor again, breaking out in another icy sweat. "They have disguised themselves to look like Aesir—we are killing each other!"

"Nothing a good _fidelius_ spell can't fix," Loki muttered, eyes narrowed at the pandemonium beyond.

"Even so, I fear they have slaughtered too many of us," Fandral panted, pain traveling through his heart. "I have no idea if Heimdall survives—or Hogun or Volstaag."

"Do not worry, my friend," Thor urged him, grasping his shoulder. "We have not come alone."

Fandral frowned, but before he could ask, Thor turned and nodded at Loki.

Loki swept past Fandral, his cape fluttering. With three swift strides, he ascended the tallest boulder and overlooked the battlefield. He towered over the carnage, the horns of his helmet and the edges of his shoulders gleaming.

He lifted his arms to the sides. His bracers flickered. He stretched out his long, pale hands.

The wind caught his cape. It swelled out behind him, then flapped in the gust. The other men strained to watch him—Fandral sensed Thor tighten his grip on Mjollnir…

Loki took a breath.

And his voice lashed like a whip out over the fields.

"_Sandheden skal gøre dig fri." _

He clapped his hands.

Light exploded from his palms—

And barreled across the locked armies and consumed them.

Startled shrieks flew upward like banshee howls. Fandral jerked his head away and threw up his hands to shield his eyes.

A thin pulse, like electrical thunder, battered rapidly over the torn ground. Then, as Fandral dared to open his eyes and lower his hands…

Two very different armies stood upon the battlefield: the Aesir, weapons raised, panic in their eyes—and the Skrulls, swords hitched in mid swing.

Alarm shocked through the ranks. Yelps shot back and forth.

And the next instant, the Skrulls leaped back, racing out of the Aesir ranks and darting back to the place they had stood before.

For a moment, Fandral's heart leaped—perhaps they were retreating!

But then, the monsters slowed, turned, gathered together, and faced the Aesir again, shaking their weapons and gnashing their teeth. Fandral's smile faded.

Now, there looked to be three Skrulls for every one Aesir.

"There," Loki pointed. Thor, followed closely by Fandral and the other men, hopped up the boulders and stood beside him. Fandral followed the direction of his arm—

And saw Volstaag and Hogun toward the middle front of the Aesir army, helping a fallen Heimdall back to his feet.

"Those ships—the flying ships that carve trenches in the ground," Fandral said, pointing in another direction, much higher. "They are coming back. They will be here in minutes." He turned, and lifted his gaze to the hardened, shining face of the eldest prince. "What is the plan?"

"We give them a chance to surrender," Thor growled.

Fandral's eyebrows shot up. Thor leaped forward, off the boulder, and landed with a great _thud _below on the grass. Loki followed—leaping silently as a cat. Right behind him went the hero man, the animal-man and the red metal man—Fandral finally remembered their names from Heimdall's narrative: Steven, Logan, and Tony.

Fandral took a deep breath—and found it released some of the anguished tension in his chest. Thor was here, confident as a lion in an arena—and they had Loki, the Sky Traveler.

Which meant that now, they might stand a chance.

Gaining a new grip on his sword, Fandral followed them, lengthening his strides and coming up to walk beside Steven. He held out his hand to him.

"Fandral, son of Mimir," he said. Steven turned to him, brow furrowed, then reached out and grasped Fandral's elbow. Fandral returned the grasp.

"Um…Steve, son of Joseph," Steven answered. "And this is Logan, and Tony Stark."

"Hi," the metal man turned his head toward Fandral. "You one of Thor's friends?"

"One of his oldest," Fandral said proudly. "And therefore, if you are his friends, you are mine as well."

"Glad to hear it," Logan said, narrowing his eyes as they neared the snarling battle lines, both sides of which strained like taut bowstrings.

The instant the group of them came into view, the Skrulls silenced, staring.

Then, they began hissing to each other in a language Fandral had never learned, and sending darting glances at each other. In contrast, a great murmur ran through the Aesir. Thor did not break step—neither did Loki—and they all marched right up to Volstaag, Hogun, and Heimdall.

"Thor! Loki!" Volstaag cried, his head bloodied and his armor dirty. He broke into a beaming smile, stepped up and enveloped Thor in a swift embrace. He backed up and grabbed Thor's shoulders and shook him once, brow furrowing.

"How in the World Tree did you get here?"

"We feared you had been killed on Midgard," a battered Hogun said, hurrying up and sending a racing glance over the whole group. He caught Fandral's eye, and gave him a crisp nod—the closest Hogun ever came to a friendly expression. Thor took hold of both their shoulders.

"My friends, it is good to see you. But we have very little time." He glanced up to the sky above the palace. Fandral followed suit—

To see the distant Skrull fliers sweeping around and bearing down.

"What is it you plan, my prince?" Heimdall asked, stepping near, his golden eyes keen and intent.

"You will see, Heimdall," Thor nodded. "Please trust me."

Fandral stayed near Volstaag and Hogun as Thor, Loki, Tony, Steve and Logan strode out and faced the Skrull army, standing side by side as one unit. Across the wide field, Fandral caught a glimpse of the Skrull commander—a great, tall warrior, scarred and missing one ear, holding a short, wickedly-pointed staff. He eyed the newcomers with a smirk, kicked back his head, and lifted his voice.

"So…" he shouted across—his gravelly voice carried like the sound of tumbling rocks. "The princes of Asgard and Midgard have suffered total defeat on another realm—and yet they are still thirsty! They come to be defeated and driven out of every realm in existence!"

An eerie cackle rippled through the lines of Skrulls. Fandral felt the hum of the ships as they drew nearer. A cool wind gusted through the capes of the Aesir.

"What is your name, Commander?" Thor shouted back.

"I am Sithfall, son of Ickdhell," the Skrull thumped his chest with his fist. "And I am going to kill at least one of you myself." He pointed at the five with a clawed hand, and sneered.

"Well, Sithfall, son of Ickdhell," Thor answered through his teeth. "I am Thor, son of Odin—and you and your people will _leave _my kingdom now and never return."

All the Skrull chuckled again.

"Your might is broken," Sithfall spat. "Your army is weak and disheartened and your king is held captive in his own house. Your words are empty. No deeds will follow them."

"And you are nothing but hired miscreants—fools who think you will somehow gain by following a mad witchdoctor to victory," Thor snapped. "Do you think for a moment he will share the spoils with _you_—allies he will soon have no use for once he obtains my father's tesseract?"

"Desperate words from a desperate boy," Sithfall mocked. "Cornered and frightened, you resort to the tricks of the schoolyard."

"You greatly mistake my meaning," Thor said, gripping Mjollnir. "In fact, I was giving you a chance to escape with your lives. For we bear a strength you cannot hope to match."

The Skrull hissed in amusement. Fandral glimpsed Sithfall raise his eyebrow.

"Pray tell, mighty prince," he snorted. "What army do you hide in the folds of your cape?"

Fandral felt the Aesir stir behind him—felt their wonderment and concern roll out from the lines toward the princes. Thor did not waver. And when he spoke, his voice carried over the shredded ground and through the restless air like the steady, deep rumble of approaching thunder.

"You broke down our doors and came after us like thieves in the night," Thor gritted. "You ensnared our women and children and spilled their blood—blood more sacred to us than our own." He shook Mjollnir. The air crackled. "And now you are foolish enough to stand here upon this precious earth and threaten _everything_ we love and _all _we have ever fought for."

The spines of the Five straightened, their hands closed to fists. Fandral's jaw tightened.

Thor took a deep breath, and his face twisted in a snarl.

"You hoped to weaken us by what you have done," Thor roared as the black clouds gathered overhead and crowded in toward the moon. "But the realms have _never_ felt the heat of the vengeance we will now bring down on your heads! We are bound by an unbreakable brotherhood—and every last prince of every last realm will _die_ before we let the Skrull plague pass the threshold of the throne room of Asgard."

Thunder rolled savagely, and lightning danced through the gnashing clouds. Some of the Skrull skittered nervously. Sithfall just canted his head.

"Are you finished, Odin's son?"

Thor bared his teeth.

"I have not even begun."

And with that, he strode forward, raised Mjollnir high in the air, then brought its head straight down to the earth.

Lightning split the sky—it shafted down through the air, blasting into the ground and wrenching it open. Heat sizzled across Fandral's skin as he covered his eyes against the blinding white. The armies reeled backward.

And then…

A blanket of icy cold fog rolled out over the battlefield. Fandral gasped, blinking, gripping his sword as he lost sight of his companions…

A gust of powerful wind cleared the air…

And next to Asgard's weakened flank stood a thousand looming Frost Giants.

The Skrulls yelped and rattled.

The Aesir's faces turned ash white. One or two dropped their weapons.

But then—

Loki broke away from Thor, and strode toward the giants of Jotunheim.

He stopped in front of the leader—a smallish giant wearing silver armor.

Loki held out his hand.

The giant grasped it.

And then, the giant turned a leering, terrifying grin toward the Skrulls.

And, with a deep, earth-shaking, bone-chilling roar, the Frost Giants charged toward the Skrulls.

Fandral's heart pounded fast—his lips parted but no exclamation came out.

The next moment, the metal man—Tony—blasted up, up into the sky toward the Skrull ships that screamed toward them. Steven raised his shield, Hogun, Heimdall and Volstaag took up their weapons, and Thor met Fandral's eyes—

And before he knew it, Fandral was racing with Thor toward the Skrull lines, all of the Aesir roaring as they followed behind the Jotun battering ram.

It was only out of the corner of his eye that Fandral saw Loki, the lead Frost Giant, and Logan wink out of existence like a candle in a window. Then, once more, Fandral was swallowed by the frenzy of battle.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	21. Chapter 21

_You know that it's true—I value every single review you give me. I love them, I read and re-read them, and I appreciate them more than you know. But at this point, my schedule is such that I have to choose between answering reviews and getting the next chapter up quicker or answering your reviews. I PROMISE that I'll get better soon at answering each and every one of them. _

_For the FIRST TWO sections, I listened to "Prince Caspian Soundtrack: Sorcery and Sudden Vengeance."_

_For the THIRD section ONWARD, I listened to "The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe soundtrack: The Battle." Couldn't have picked the titles better myself;) Listen while you read. You will not believe how much more thrilling it makes it._

_Enjoy!_

_VVVVV_

Chapter 21

_"A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world.  
It knows no law, no pity, _

_It dares all things _

_And crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path."  
_

_-Agatha Christie_

Jane followed right behind Sif down the darkened hallway. Marie's fingertips brushed the back of Jane's arm—Pepper's footsteps padded almost silently behind Marie. Jane's breathing came in short, shallow breaths, her eyes darting back and forth as they hurried on.

As soon as they had slid out of their cell, Sif had immediately led them out of the dungeons via a small side door only used by guards during shift changeover. The four had climbed up a narrow, twisting stairway, tensely groping their way along in the pitch blackness. Finally, they had eased out into a taller, long, open corridor lit only by one flickering torch every hundred meters. They slipped along like single-file shadows, hugging the wall, saying nothing. Jane was suddenly thankful she wore no shoes—her feet made no sound. She stayed right behind Sif, trying to get her bearings, but she couldn't. She had never been to this part of the palace.

They whispered swiftly down the long hall, then turned right as Sif turned, down a small set of steps and into a dark alcove. Sif slowed, then faced them. Jane, heart pounding, stepped up near her. Sif glanced at all their faces, then held out her arms and pulled the four of them into a huddle, keeping Marie between herself and Jane. Jane wrapped her arms around Marie and Pepper's waists, hoping they could not feel how badly she was shivering. She could only see shadows of their faces in the dim blue light, but she could feel their heartbeats, their breaths, as they all pulled in tight together.

"The palace is dark," Sif whispered, barely making any sound. "I fear for the safety of the king and queen."

Jane's heart jolted.

"What could have happened to them?"

"Remember the net weapon that bound us up?" Sif reminded her. "I am afraid it may also work on the All-Father."

Jane went cold.

"Then what are we going to do?" Marie asked. Sif drew in a short breath and let it out.

"We will do whatever it takes to keep Doom from getting the tesseract."

"If he doesn't have it already," Pepper muttered.

"Doom doesn't have it yet—if he did, we would not be standing here," Sif said. "He must not know where it is."

"But you do," Marie realized. Sif nodded.

"I do."

"You have a plan?" Pepper assumed.

"We dare not break into the main vault ourselves and try to move the tesseract," she said. "We could easily do as much damage as Doom plans if we make a mistake—besides which, the Destroyer would kill us. But perhaps we can stop _Doom _from entering the vault."

Jane felt Marie's arm tighten around her. Jane swallowed.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

Sif straightened for a moment and glanced around, listening. They all grew quiet. Then, she lowered her head next to theirs again, and breathed a reply.

"There are three weapons vaults," she began. "The main vault holds the king's most dangerous and forbidden treasures, such as the tesseract and the Infinity Gauntlet. The other houses the issued weapons for the army. And the third one…" she glanced behind her. "Holds the illustrious weapons."

"What are those?" Pepper asked.

"Retired weapons forged by dwarves or elves, or carrying curses or spells or made of dying stars," Sif explained. "I have no doubt the mass armory is empty, and the other is guarded by the Destroyer. But the third…" She withdrew from them, and descended the last three steps, and turned to a small door. Jane, frowning, followed her, feeling the other women do the same.

"The third…" Sif finished. "Is a museum."

She pushed on the door. And it swung open.

Jane's eyes flashed as Sif disappeared into the blackness of the next room. Jane hurried after, feeling her way through the cold stone doorframe.

As soon as they entered, several lamps blinked to life—none of them very bright, but they provided enough light so Jane could see.

It was a small, gray room with an arched ceiling—stone figures of warriors lined the walls, their heads bowed over their stone swords, decorative and solemn.

And in between these sepulchral forms stood fearsome-looking marble women, garbed in armor, their gazes fixed straight ahead. Before them, they each held out long, flat platters, as if for offerings. But atop each of these platters lay a gleaming sword.

Sif stepped up to the closest one, gazed down at it, then reached out and grasped its pearl handle and lifted the sword from its place. Dust rose into the air. Blade sang against smooth stone.

"Gram, sword of Sigmund," she said, turning and facing Pepper. Her black eyes blazed. "Once broken, now re-forged, it can cleave an anvil in half." Sif laid the sword over and held it in both hands out to Pepper. Pepper stared at it and gulped, then met Sif's eyes. Her expression hardened, and she reached out and took it from Sif. She gasped.

"It's so light!" she exclaimed. Sif smirked.

"He likes you." She stepped over the next sword, considering it. It had a gold handle, and a shorter blade bearing small runes. She reached out and took it up, and turned to Marie. "Lævateinn, forged by Volundr—merely aim it at an enemy and hold on, and it will fight for you." Sif flipped the flickering sword around and held it out to Marie. Awed and quiet, her eyes fixed on it, Marie took the sword and settled it in both hands. She said nothing.

Sif watched Marie for a second, then stepped up to the next stone woman. She stood for a long time in front of that one—Jane's blood turned even colder. Finally, Sif reached out with both hands and lifted that sword off its pedestal—and Jane noticed it still had its scabbard.

This sword was black, from the tip of its sheath to the end of the tang. It bore no markings, no runes, no designs. And when Sif crossed back and stood in front of Jane, her face had gone pale.

"This sword's name is Tyrfing, and I ask you not to draw it here," she said quietly.

"Why?" Jane asked, watching the sword as if it were a snake.

"Because it can cut through stone or metal like cloth," Sif answered. "And each time it is drawn, it will instantly kill someone."

Jane's eyes flew to Sif.

"And you want _me—"_

"Yes," Sif answered. "You most of all."

Jane froze, staring at Sif, trying to read the feeling behind that dark, stoic gaze. She shivered—and reached out, and took Tyrfing from Sif.

It felt easy in her hands—delicate and cool. Almost fragile. But it retained that snakelike feel. Jane gripped it harder.

Sif turned back, marched down the line of statues, and picked up the last sword. It also had a sheath, and a belt. She strapped it on, keeping its name to herself, and marched toward the other women.

"Come," she clipped. "There are four corridors that lead to the main vault. Each of us will have to guard one of them."

Jane exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Pepper and Marie—but none of them spoke. Then, clenching her teeth, Jane turned, and followed Sif, hearing Pepper and Marie come right after.

AAAAA

Jane breathed—in, out, in, out—and listened. She stood alone in a narrow side corridor, a half-door leading to the main weapons vault behind her, and a long, dark hallway in front of her. She actually remembered being led past this passageway when they arrived—a statue of the young All-Father stood near its entrance. The stairway to the dungeon was nearby, somewhere.

She swallowed. Her mouth was dry.

As Sif had pointed out, the palace was dark. And since the palace, and all of Asgard, mimicked the sentiments of its rulers, that could not be good. Besides which, Jane hadn't glimpsed a single Aesir guard, dead or otherwise. Which meant that all of their fighting force had been sent out to the battlefield or the throne room.

Leaving only Sif, Pepper, Marie and Jane guarding the Cube. Well, along with the Destroyer. A flicker of a smile crossed Jane's pale lips. She never imagined she'd be comforted by _that _thought.

She had tied Tyrfing to her waist, and it hung there, a barely-perceptible weight. Jane kept her left hand resting on the butt of it, her fingers trembling. Her whole body still felt weak, nausea unsettling her gut.

Sif had placed each of them at different stations, and left them with one command: "If the enemy comes down your hallway, kill him." No one bothered to say that there was no way they could maintain their positions for long if the Skrulls actually charged in _en masse_—that they would all be murdered, magic weapons or no, unless help came quickly. But there wasn't a point in saying that. They all knew it.

Jane took a deeper breath on purpose, and closed her fingers around Tyrfing.

Then, her breath caught.

She heard something.

She went still.

Footsteps.

Someone was coming.

Jane stayed where she was, frozen in the shadows.

A figure appeared in the far distance, down the corridor.

A figure that moved like liquid—smooth and confident and quiet. A curvy, feminine figure, with swaying hips and short hair…

And a glowing blue gun strapped to her belt.

Natasha Romanov.

All the heat drained out of Jane's face.

And she stepped forward.

Her feet stayed silent as she walked. As she put one foot in front of the other, her hands steadied, her muscles strengthened, and her thoughts disconnected from her body and floated upward and away like vapor. Her focus narrowed, closed, clamped on that striding figure. Her mind went blank.

She paused near the knees of the All-Father's statue. She watched, her body ice-cold, as Romanov walked right past her, her brow furrowed, eyes downcast, as if she was concentrating on hurrying. Without pause, Romanov turned and started down the stairs toward the dungeons. Her boots tapped rhythmically on the stone steps.

Jane followed her.

She trailed Romanov like a shadow, down the wide, winding staircase. A splinter of a thought crossed Jane's mind: Romanov was heading down to bring one of the captive women up, probably for Doom to bargain with.

But they weren't there anymore.

Jane kept one hand on Tyrfing's hilt as she stepped, counting the cold stairs beneath her feet.

Romanov reached the bottom of the steps and opened the dungeon door. It squeaked. Weak light spilled out. Romanov stepped through and headed straight down the middle hallway, passing the cell doors. Jane followed, narrowing her eyes to make them focus. She crossed the threshold, then paused.

Romanov kept walking, resting her hand on the butt of her gun. Then, she slowed. She halted in front of an open cell door, and stared at it.

"_Nevozmozhnoe_…" she breathed in disbelief, reaching out to touch the edge of the door.

In an eyeblink, she whipped out her gun and pointed it back up the hallway.

_Right _at Jane.

Jane's heart stopped.

Then, she frowned.

Romanov's eyes didn't focus on her. They started scanning the room, roving back and forth, searching.

As if she couldn't see Jane.

Keeping her gun up and at the ready, Romanov crept back toward the main door, toward Jane, knees slightly bent, feet silent. Jane stayed where she was, perfectly still, eyes narrowed to slits.

Romanov kept walking toward her, listening as she came, taking deep, measured breaths. Over and over, her keen gaze swept directly across Jane, but nothing ever registered on her face.

Somehow, for some impossible reason, Jane was invisible.

Finally, Romanov drew to a halt. She lowered her gun, and stopped just two feet in front of Jane. She let out a short sigh, shook her head, glanced off to her left and scowled.

"_Ya budu ubivat ikh."_

Jane took a deep breath. She let it out—and released the tension in her chest.

Suddenly, Romanov's eyes flew to Jane's—and widened in shock.

She could see her.

She jerked her gun up.

Jane's right hand grasped Tyrfing and she pulled it loose.

Like a beast let off the chain, it came free of its sheath in half a heartbeat and arched through the air.

The black blade flashed.

It met Romanov's torso with no resistance.

It sliced her open from her right hip to her left shoulder.

Romanov's gun clattered to the floor.

Tyrfing calmed, and settled in Jane's hand as she held it poised high over her head. Jane stared straight into Romanov's eyes, watching her face turn white.

Romanov choked, and dark blood spilled from her lips and down her chin. She collapsed to her knees, wrapping her spasming arms around her chest. She tumbled onto her side. Jane did not lower her sword.

"_Miloserdie,_" Romanov gurgled. Jane's jaw clenched and her gaze unfocused. She stared straight ahead at the far wall. Blood ran down the blade and trickled onto her fingers. Before her on the floor, Romanov choked and gasped and trembled.

It was only after a long, dark moment that Jane realized the dungeon had gone silent.

Then, slowly, Jane slid Tyrfing back into its sheath.

AAAAA

Loki moved swiftly and silently through the shadowed side corridors of the palace toward the throne room, feeling Ulrik and Logan trail after just as quietly. At each corner, he slowed down and sent a small echo spell rebounding off the walls ahead, making certain no one was coming. Three times he did this, watching only the lamps respond to his breath of magic. The final time, he halted completely, feeling Logan and Ulrik press close against his back. Loki took a deep breath. Once they rounded this corner, they would find themselves in the tall, wide corridor that ended in the broad steps leading up to the far end of the throne room. He paused, then turned slightly and glanced at Logan and Ulrik. They looked back at him. Loki went still.

Logan's rugged face was fierce, focused, his bright eyes watching Loki. For a moment, Loki cast a glance over Logan's bullet-hole-ridden, blood-covered shirt and jacket, then lifted his eyes to Logan's once more. Loki swallowed. Logan gave him a steady look—and nodded. Reflexively, Loki lifted his face toward Ulrik.

Ulrik—his brother—gazed calmly back at him, green eyes gleaming in the weak light. Ulrik straightened his shoulders, and gave Loki an almost imperceptible—and grim—smile.

Loki held out his hands, palms up—his right toward Logan, his left toward Ulrik. Logan's expression flickered, but Ulrik understood. Ulrik reached out and grasped Loki's fingers, and held on. The next moment, Logan did the same—a rough, calloused hand closed around Loki's and tightened. Loki stood still for just a moment, gazing back and forth at the faces of these two men, then squeezed hard. Then, he let go, turned, and left them behind. Drawing himself to his full height, he strode out, alone, into the hallway.

Memories wafted through his mind as he walked, footsteps silent, his cape flowing behind him. Pillars lined this corridor—pillars from which hung long, cream-colored linen curtains. He had stood behind that one up there to the right not a year ago, waiting for Thor to enter for his coronation. Then, this place had been illuminated by blazing fire pits and soft, golden ambient light. Now, gloom hung heavy, darkness in the corners and shadows in the open—only a sickly blue light gleamed against the armor of his shoulders and arms, making his memories turn distantly freakish, as the tendrils of a nightmare hanging about him just after waking.

He hesitated at the foot of the stairs and lifted his eyes to the height of them. Then, taking one last deep breath, he ascended.

He counted the steps, each one, as he walked. He let his footsteps make soft padding sounds. He smoothed his stride and his expression with calculation and purpose. He attained the landing. He stopped.

The throne room opened up before him—vast and dark as a cave, now only lit by blue torches on the pillars, and the glowing staves of twenty powerfully-built Skrull who stood in a semi-circle around the All-Father's throne. And in the center of this semi-circle, on the marble floor side by side, bound by tight, glowing nets, lay Loki's mother and father.

And pacing slowly around them like a wolf eyeing its prey was the tall, cloaked form of Victor von Doom.

"I _will _have it," Doom said, his voice reverberating through the mighty space. "I already know where it is. But I also know what your Destroyer is capable of—and I'm not really in the mood to play with it right now." He bent over Odin, his hands on his hips, and eyed him. "My faithful assistant should be bringing Lady Jane back up here for me right now—we'll see if you're a little more ready to tell me how to disarm that Destroyer once I've cut off a couple of her fingers."

The words made Loki's gut turn.

But he smirked—his most poisonous expression…

And he laughed.

It echoed throughout the chamber. The Skrulls jerked and whipped around to face him, snarling.

Doom straightened and spun to face him.

For just an instant, Loki saw the startlement written across his frame.

Then, his towering form settled, eased, and turned just as liquidly dangerous as Loki's.

"Loki Odinson," he said. He shook his head. "You're kind of like a cockroach, aren't you?"

"You would know all about being a cockroach," Loki smiled, easily tripping down the stairs and striding toward Doom, the Skrull guards, and his parents. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"Ha—_my _visit?" Doom repeated, pressing a hand to his chest. Loki shrugged as he came even nearer, and gestured to the room with both hands.

"This is _my _home_," _Loki answered, the smile falling from his face as he met Doom's shadowed eyes. "And unless you're here to bring tribute and _beg _my father's forgiveness…" Loki halted and leveled his voice. "You are trespassing."

"Oh, really?" Doom snapped. "And what are you going to do about it?"

Loki struck him in the face with an open palm.

A sharp _clang _shot through the room.

Loki's palm stung.

Doom reeled to the side.

The Skrulls roared and aimed their weapons at Loki.

Loki clapped his hands together.

A bright flash blinded the room.

Doom straightened up…

And stopped moving. He stared.

In the air above Loki's left hand hovered the tesseract.

The Skrulls gaped. Loki stayed where he was, the sapphire cube glowing and glimmering, its light flooding the darkness.

"Wh…How did you get that?" Doom demanded.

"I live here," Loki shrugged one shoulder. "The royal family may access the weapons vault at will."

"I will kill your wife for this," Doom snarled. Loki lifted an eyebrow and one finger.

"Careful, Victor," he warned. "I can wink you right out of existence."

"Then why don't you?" Doom asked. "What's taking you so long?"

"Get out of Asgard," Loki ordered, his voice like a whip. "Get out, and take your Skrull filth with you." His eyes narrowed. "While I still have a few threads of patience left."

Doom did not move. He watched Loki's face like a hawk, his eyes glittering in the blue light. Then, he shook his head, once.

"I don't buy it," he murmured. "If you really had the Cube, we'd be gone already."

Loki kept his expression like iron. Doom took a step toward him, then another. The Skrull crept closer too, the tips of their glowing spears edging toward Loki's midsection.

"The master of illusions, right Loki?" Doom canted his head. "This isn't the real tesseract. It's just—"

A sharp _snap_ clapped through the room. Loki's attention darted past Doom—

To see Logan's flashing claws slice right through the net that bound Frigg.

The net retracted and disappeared.

Frigg sat up, gasping, and grabbed Logan's arm.

Doom whirled around.

"Kill them!" he roared, pointing at Logan and Frigg.

Loki made a fist with his left hand, gathered the blue energy floating there, reared back and punched Doom in the side of the head.

Lightning enveloped him. He flew through the air and crashed into the stairs at the base of the throne.

The Skrull fired on Logan and his mother.

Loki's breath caught and his heart locked.

Frigg leaped up, stood in front of Logan and spread her hands.

The bolts struck the empty air and bounced off, harmless.

Loki let out a shuddering breath—

And something slammed into his side.

He crashed to the floor.

Gritting his teeth, he fought back the biting agony that lanced through his ribs and right arm. Gasping, he turned over and clambered onto his knees and back to his feet—

Just in time to see a Skrull aim and fire at him again.

Loki threw up his left hand and knocked the bolt back.

It took the Skrull's head off.

Loki staggered, his vision doubling for an instant as he tried to catch his breath. He squinted, glancing around him—

Doom was getting up off the stairs. And the Skrulls were still firing at Frigg and Logan. Frigg backed Logan up behind her, holding up her shield, and pushed Logan behind a pillar. Odin struggled beneath his net—Loki saw the bindings straining to hold him. Loki took a breath, gathered magic between his hands and began to form a narrow throwing blade, eyeing the edge of Odin's net—

A blast of light rocketed toward him.

He dropped the blade and flung up his hands.

Raw power hammered into his shield, shocking him backward, rattling his bones.

He shoved back and dispersed the blast, blinking past the shattered light—

Doom was advancing on him, lightning bolts sparking and twining around his open hands and wrists.

Loki, biting back the pain of his new injury, swept his hands over each other and conjured hissing, spitting ball of fire. With a heave, he launched it at Doom.

Doom flung out his hands. Lightning launched from them and devoured the fire.

The lightning kept coming.

It skidded toward Loki—

Loki roared, reached out and grabbed it.

It tangled around his hands and clamped his jaw.

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw the Skrulls close in around his mother, battering at her shield with relentless fire. She gritted her teeth and braced herself hard, but Logan could not step out from behind her to help—the bolts would disintegrate him. Odin, with a pained bellow, had managed to raise himself into a sitting position—but he still could not free himself.

Loki threw off Doom's lightning and set his stance, facing the other sorcerer—

Just in time to see Doom leap toward him, a blazing spear of light in his hands.

Loki summoned another shield and held it up. Doom's spear head battered down on it. The force sent Loki down on one knee.

"Loki!" Frigg cried—and splinters flashed across her shield.

"Your mother is calling you," Doom sneered.

Loki slapped Doom's spear away with his own shield, leaped up, formed a knife and stabbed down at Doom's chest.

Doom conjured his own shield, knocked away Loki's blow—

And they tangled.

In a flurry of whirling, vicious, close-quarter chaos, they slashed and hacked at each other like lions, their hands moving like lightning, their blows ringing and glancing across their armor and shredding their capes.

At the far end of the room, something exploded.

Loki leaped back, panting, feeling that he was bleeding from a dozen different places. His eyes found Frigg—the Skrulls aimed at her. Her shield had given out. She drew herself up and stared them down.

Loki's heart lurched.

"_Mother!" _he cried.

Doom lunged forward and backhanded Loki in the face. Loki's vision spun—blood filled his mouth. He staggered to the side and fell against a pillar.

An icy blast of wind rushed through the chamber.

And suddenly, twelve of the Skrulls were encased in jagged ice.

Loki blinked and swallowed, fighting to right himself.

Logan leaped out from behind the protective pillar, bellowing like a madman, and hacked the Skrull to pieces.

Then Ulrik—towering Ulrik—strode through, hefting the ice casket in one hand and a rock-hard club in the other. With sharp, swift swings of that club, he shattered the frozen Skrulls, sending their pieces flying and skittering across the marble floor. Then, he knelt down in front of Odin.

Loki stood up, turned to Doom and bared his bloody teeth.

Doom swung at him again.

Loki caught his arm and shoved him backward with all his strength. Doom tumbled to the ground.

Ulrik aimed the ice-casket at Odin. A brief blast shot from it, and frost covered the All-Father.

The net crystallized, hardened.

The next instant, Odin flung out his arms, and the net broke into a thousand pieces.

Ulrik grabbed a startled Odin by the shoulder and heaved him to his feet.

Logan dodged two shots from the remaining Skrulls, then charged right at them, claws outstretched. The Skrulls backpedaled and kept firing. A shot clipped Logan's shoulder. He slammed into the Skrulls and hacked them to pieces. Dark blood splattered.

Doom got up and turned on Loki. His cape was in tatters, his eyes wild beneath his mask. He charged.

Loki rose and raced to meet him, gathering power in his hands.

Suddenly, Doom spun. His cape caught Loki across his upper body. Disoriented, Loki twitched back.

Doom held out his hand—

And Odin's staff flashed into being, right in his grip.

Loki's eyes went wide. How had he captured _that—?_

Doom whirled it. It blasted Loki onto his back.

Loki's vision went black for an instant. He tried to pull in a breath—couldn't—

Cold, razor-sharp metal pressed hard against the base of his throat. His eyes opened. He stared, choking, up at Doom, who held the staff with both hands. Doom leaned down onto the staff. Loki yelped and clawed at it. Blood ran down to his collarbone. He grabbed the staff with both hands and tried to force it away. It didn't move.

"I made the mistake of letting you live before," Doom gritted. "I'm not going to do that again."

He leaned in harder. The staff pinned Loki's windpipe shut.

Flashes of memory crossed Loki's vision.

Playing on wooden horses with Thor when they were boys—

Sitting on his father's knee by the fire—

Listening to his mother sing him to sleep—

The feel of Jane's lips against his...

The sky turning pink at early dawn.

He closed his eyes.

AAAAA

Mjollnir slapped back into Thor's sweaty grasp. He paused, breathing hard—then limped forward, scanning the sky. Tony streaked past, followed by two Skrull fighters, barely evading their peppering fire. Behind the Aesir lines, the smoke of two ships that had crashed in the forest billowed blackly into the heavens and mingled with the clouds.

All around Thor, Aesir and Jotun battled side by side, fighting the Skrull foot soldiers with frenzied fury, weapons blazing in the light of the firefight above.

But they were not winning.

They had driven the Skrulls back, back, into a pass between the mountains, aiming to corral them and finish them off.

But then the fighters, now able to distinguish between their own and the enemy, began pounding the Aesir lines, demolishing half the army. And Tony had nearly died twice preventing them from flying their damaged ships right down into the Aesir ranks.

Now, two evenly-matched forces faced off, the cacophony of their struggle battering against the walls of the wide canyon.

Thor shook off his hip injury as best he could, scanning for his friends. There were Fandral and Hogun, fighting side by side, their weapons darting faster than the eye could track. There was Volstaag, knocking the brains out of two Skrull at once, roaring as he did. Thor started forward on the uneven ground, glancing to his left...

To see Alfrid crash onto his back, three Skrulls bearing down on him.

Thor leaped through the air and hurled Mjollnir.

The hammer bowled through the Skrulls, sending their shattered bodies flying backward and thudding to the rocks. Thor landed hard beside Alfrid and held out his hand.

Alfrid, wiping the blood from his sapphire brow, met Thor's eyes with his red ones.

"You would risk frostbite to help me up?"

"I've had worse," Thor answered, managing half a smile. Alfrid smiled in return, waved him off, and hefted himself to his feet. The two leaders stood for a moment, panting and scanning.

"Something must be done," Thor shouted over the noise. "The ships will be back—Tony cannot manage them all at once."

"The mountain," Alfrid pointed.

Thor lifted his eyes to a mount called Iron Fist—it looked like an outstretched fist, leaning over the canyon. It was as large as half the palace.

"Bring it down?" Thor looked at the giant. Alfrid glanced down at him.

"If we call a retreat, the Skrulls will stay put for a moment or two. As soon as we are clear, bring the mountain down on their heads with that fantastic hammer of yours."

Thor grinned.

"I approve."

Alfrid nodded.

"Very good." He raised his head and took a breath. "Warriors of Jotunheim! _Fall back!"_

"Warriors of Asgard!" Thor shouted. "_Fall back! Fall back!" _

The Warriors Three hesitated, glanced at him—Thor waved them back. They instantly broke off and raced back up the canyon.

The Aesir, fleet of foot and mind, disengaged instantly and ran back, following their brethren. The Jotuns, whose strides measured several meters, easily outstripped them. Thor hefted Mjollnir and set his stance, eyeing the Iron Fist. Any moment now...

Movement caught his eye.

His gaze fell down to the plane of the battle.

Three Aesir still stood in the thick of it, hacking with all their might. They had been separated, surrounded. They were going to die.

Three Aesir.

And Captain America.

Thor's heart skipped a beat.

One Aesir fell. Then the other—stuck through the heart.

Steve and the final Aesir stood back to back, the Aesir lashing out with his blade, Steve with his shield. His blonde hair hung across his brow, his face tight and covered in dirt and sweat.

Then, the great form of Sithfall, the Skrull commander, charged toward the fray.

With one blow of his huge, heavy sword, he crushed the last Aesir.

Thor moved.

He threw himself into the Skrull lines, plowing through them—he tried to take off, to fly, but agony clamped through his leg and back. He knocked the Skrull aside as they bit and clawed and stabbed at him. He paid them no attention—his eyes fixed on his friend.

"_Steve!_" he shouted, his heartbeat skyrocketing. He was too far away—

Steve turned. His eyes went wide.

Sithfall swung his sword. He knocked Steve's shield aside. It went flying.

"No!"Thor roared. He shoved forward with all his strength.

Sithfall spun and plunged his blade straight through Steve's middle.

Steve's head kicked back. His hands jerked up.

Sithfall yanked his blade free.

"_No!" _Thor wailed. He shoved the last of the Skrull out of the way and threw Mjollnir.

The hammer met Sithfall's skull with a resounding crack. The Skrull commander toppled. The Skrull seethed like a pit of asps.

Thor took two more bounding leaps, then slammed onto his knees next to Steve.

"Thor," Steve shivered, his face turning white as his gray eyes found Thor's. "I...I think I'm...I think I'm hurt." He fumbled for Thor's hands—Thor grabbed Steve's upper body and lifted him up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"We have to get you out of here," he gritted.

Steve thrashed, and squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked from his eyes and trailed down his dirty face. Thor's whole chest clamped in pain. He pressed his hand down onto Steve's wound—his palm instantly got hot and sticky.

"_Thor!" _

The shout jerked Thor's thoughts—it was Alfrid.

Alfrid, telling him to bring down the mountain.

Thor's wide eyes darted about—they were surrounded by Skrull. The Aesir and Jotun armies were clear.

He had to bring down the mountain.

Now.

Thor's thoughts went still. His heart quieted.

He swallowed, and took a deep breath.

He gazed down at Steve.

Steve was watching him.

Steve swallowed hard too, and his eyelashes fluttered. He reached up and took hold of Thor's breastplate.

"Get out of here," he whispered. "Go on, buddy. Go."

Thor shook his head. He wrapped his arm tighter around Steve, then lifted Mjollnir to his lips.

"Take down the Iron Fist," he whispered. Briefly, he closed his eyes as the hammer hummed in response.

The Skrulls clacked, swarming nearer to them.

Thor rose up—

And for one last time, he threw Mjollnir straight up.

Then, he bent his whole body over Steve's shielding him, and closed his eyes.

He left his right hand out, and open, asking Mjollnir to come back to him after its task was done...

But knowing it never would.

He shut his eyes, and pressed his forehead to Steve's.

And thunder split the peak.

_To be continued..._

_Review!_


	22. Chapter 22

_Whoosh! Okay, again, I'm going to post rather than answer reviews—but I WILL answer the reviews after this chapter. Lol, if you review, of course. And the next chapter after this one will be the last! Hope you enjoy._

_VVVVV_

Chapter 22

"You think I'm strong?

Well, though I seem to be tough,

I'm afraid of one thing.

It's realizing that I've lost the person whom I gather strength from.

So don't ever go.

I'm not that strong."

-Unknown

Loki couldn't breathe—he choked roughly against the metal point pressing against his throat. His helmet had tumbled off—it lay beside him, useless. He kept his eyes shut. His hands quivered weakly as they gripped the shaft. He couldn't feel his arms or legs or anything else. His consciousness faded…

Then…

Frost stung his fingertips.

A roar distorted his hearing.

The spear lifted off his neck.

Loki gagged, twitched away and grasped at his throat. He blinked rapidly, his eyes watering—

And saw Doom's whole body catch a direct blast of billowing frost.

In half an instant, a thick layer of blue ice encased him completely, freezing his stance and his half-raised arms. Loki swiped at his face, trying to clear his eyes—

Ulrik towered right behind Doom, letting loose the full fury of the ice casket upon him.

The gust ceased. Doom stood, locked in place, the All-Father's staff clenched in both hands. Loki took a ragged, stunned breath—

And suddenly, long, wicked metal claws flashed through the air and cleaved Doom's head off.

Loki jerked.

Doom's head thudded to the ground with a thick, heavy _smack. _

Then, Ulrik deliberately shoved the rest of the body onto its side—and with a curled lip, he watched it smash onto the floor.

The next moment, two strong hands grabbed Loki's arms and hefted him up. Still coughing and swallowing blood, Loki staggered up and leaned heavily against the person who kept hold of him—the person who smelled of gunpowder, leather and cigars.

"Easy there, Green Eyes," Logan soothed, holding onto him and slapping his back. Loki broke into a fit of shivers as his legs turned to water—but Logan held him up, and Loki grasped the leather sleeves of his jacket, gratefully resting his chin on Logan's shoulder.

Then, a broader, colder hand came around and pressed against the top of Loki's head.

"Are you all right, little brother?" Ulrik's deep tones asked.

Loki's eyes fluttered closed and his slick lips pulled into a smile.

"I'm older than you," he croaked.

"You are still little," Ulrik reminded him. Loki forced his eyes open and gazed up at the giant who stood so close to him and Logan. Green eyes twinkled back at him. Loki tried to right himself, and opened his mouth to thank Logan—

A deep, unearthly rumble shook the palace floors and rattled the fixtures.

And a fathomless, otherworldly _crack_ split the air.

"Odin!" Frigg yelped. "The mountain!"

Logan, Loki and Ulrik's heads came around—

To see Frigg and Odin running toward the far balcony that faced the Fields of Elheimmer.

The rumbling built—all of Asgard shook.

And before he knew it, Loki was limping toward his parents, Logan and Ulrik in tow, his heart locked in place.

He fell against his mother's side—she grabbed hold of him. A gust of night wind hit his face—

And out there, in the moonlight, a billow of gray dust filled the pass between the mountains.

The peak of the Iron Fist had collapsed.

"What the…" Logan whispered.

Three streaks of light cut the dark sky—Skrull fighters. They banked sharply, twisted, and suddenly blasted off into the heavens, vanishing completely in an instant.

"What was out there?" Frigg demanded, eyes wide and fixed on the distance.

"The battle," Ulrik stated grimly.

"Thor," Loki rasped, tears in his eyes. "Thor is out there."

Frigg let out a sharp wail—Odin pressed a hand to his mouth.

Frigg turned to Loki and scrabbled at his breastplate.

"Loki! Loki, go!" she begged, taking hold of his collar. "Go now—bring him back to me!"

He leaned in and kissed her fervently on the forehead, trying to give her courage—but feeling like the floor had just fallen out from under him.

He pulled back and blinked the tears out of his eyes. Clearing his throat, he fixed his eyes on that distant rising cloud…

Lifted a shaking hand and snapped his fingers.

A brief, tearing rush of wind and darkness surrounded him.

Then, he snapped back into existence.

His breath caught. His eyes struggled to focus.

He was standing on a pile of sharp, uneven rocks. The vast, unseen presence of mountains towered on either side. The cool night air was filled with dust—he could hardly see ten feet in front of him. Everything was silent.

Loki strained his vision, his chest going tight. His heart pounded so fast he could barely feel the space between beats—his head felt light, his bones insecure.

"Thor!"

The call tore from his throat without his even thinking about it. Then, all at once, he couldn't stop. "Thor! _Thor!_"

Loki stumbled forward, rocks clacking and skipping away from his clumsy booted feet. Pain danced around in his right arm and side.

_"I…I broke my horse!" Loki shuddered, wiping his eyes with the back of his black sleeves, his lower lip trembling. _

_ Little Thor sat back and glanced over at the shattered toy, the pieces of which littered the stones._

_ "Yeah," he sighed, frowning at it. "You fell hard." _

_ A new swell of tears threatened to overtake Loki. _

_ "I just got it yesterday!" he cried. Thor looked at him._

"_You can ride mine," he said._

"Thor!" Loki wailed, dust in his eyes, tears stinging them. He clenched his right arm against his chest and clambered over a large boulder, searching, searching…

"_I heard them talking about a name," Loki said._

_ "What name?" Thor asked._

_ "Balder."_

_ "What does that mean?"_

_ "Something pretty. Like flowers or summer or something," Loki told him._

_ "Ugh," Thor grunted. "It must be a girl, then."_

_ They both groaned in despair. Their troubled silence got worse._

_ "I wonder if they'll change our places," Loki murmured._

_ "Hm?"_

_ "Around the table," Loki said, watching Thor. "I wonder if they'll move me down, or across the table, or—"_

_ Thor was already shaking his head hard._

"_No, no, no," he insisted. "No. You sit next to me. Forever. Promise."_

Loki tried to summon breath—he fought to draw it in, but it felt like sucking in fire. He stumbled to a halt, the silence hammering against his hearing, something deep inside his chest tearing like fabric.

"_Remember what Father always says," Thor said. "There are two sides to Mjollnir. If I ask it to split mountains or crush bone, it will. But if I ask it to build or forge, it will do that as well." He paused, and gave Loki a serious look. "And I know where my _true _strength lies."_

_Loki was too stunned to say anything. And before he could try, Thor had stepped up to him, hung the chain around his neck and clasped it. _

_A jolt of power ran from the top of Loki's spine to his heels the instant the clasp clicked. Then, Thor wrapped his arms around him tight, taking a fistful of his dark hair. _

"_For as long as the east stands across from the west," Thor said, so only Loki could hear. "I will be your brother."_

Loki's vision blinked dark—he swayed, nausea turning his gut. He stopped walking.

Silence.

Not even the air moved.

Loki's breathing halted. His lips formed his brother's name. No sound came out.

And for a moment, all of Asgard stood still.

A pebble fell. Tumbled across a bigger rock.

More rocks shifted—ground against each other, clattered—

Lifted.

Loki's eyes widened.

Not fifteen feet in front of him, the earth heaved upward…

And a scarred, scorch-marked iron man stood up and threw a great heap of stone off of his back.

And out from beneath him…

Rose a tattered, bloody, dirty, lion-of-a-man in battered Aesir armor and a torn scarlet cape.

Loki did not run. He flew.

In two bounds, he crossed the distance between them, leaping over crumbled rock and bits of weaponry—

And threw his arms around Thor, burying his face in his neck.

Thor's great arms instantly wrapped around Loki and crushed him tight—Loki could feel his brother trembling hard. Loki squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed a fistful of Thor's matted golden hair, only belatedly realizing that he had let his tears fall the instant he saw him.

"Oh, my brother…" Loki murmured, his words muffled—and that was all he could manage. His armor jingled and rattled and unconjured, and the next moment, so did Thor's—and Loki could feel the hammer of his brother's heart against his own.

But then Thor faltered. Loki pulled back, gasping and blinking away tears, grabbing the shoulders of Thor's damp shirt.

"You are hurt," he realized, gazing up at Thor's rugged, dirty face—a face twisted in pain and streaked with sweat and blood. Thor sucked in a shaking breath, his eyes brilliant with tears that spilled down his face.

"It's nothing," he said roughly, shaking his head—but Loki could feel the weakness in his frame.

"Yeah, you're welcome," came a ragged voice in Loki's right ear. Loki blinked and spun—

Suddenly remembering the iron man who had covered his brother.

Tony, his dark hair messy, threw his dented, useless helmet on the ground, pried off his ruined arm pieces and chest plate and flung them to the rocks—

Just in time for Loki to pull him into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and leaning his head against the side of his. For an instant, as Loki closed his eyes and allowed his tears to tumble, he expected Tony to make some sort of remark—but he didn't. He just encircled Loki with his arms and stayed there, just for a moment, and when he pulled back, he swiped at his eyes with a grimy hand, nodded firmly, and cleared his throat.

It was only out of the corner of his eye that Loki first saw Steve.

And in that instant, all his joy crumbled.

Loki's knees turned feeble as his gaze fell on Steve's body, lying on his back, covered in dust and rubble, the entire midsection of his suit almost black with blood. Steve stared up at the sky, his face white as ash, his eyes blinking slowly, his throat spasming.

Loki sank to his knees on Steve's left side as Thor did the same on Steve's right.

"What happened?" Loki demanded, his attention sweeping over Steve's form.

"The Skrull commander," Thor answered hoarsely, resting a scratched-up hand on Steve's limp forearm. "Steven got lost in the enemy ranks—I went after him—couldn't get there in time…"

Steve choked. His eyes rolled back in his head.

"C'mon, there's…There's gotta be something we can do," Tony's voice broke.

"There is," Loki murmured, and leaned closer to Steve. Gently, he pressed his right hand to Steve's ice-cold forehead, and searched his face.

"Steven, I know you can hear me," Loki said quietly. "Listen to me: I've seen worse. You will be all right. I promise you."

Steve's gray eyes opened—and for a moment, they focused on Loki.

Loki moved his hand and gripped Steve's hair, giving him a severe look.

"You will stay with us, here, for just a moment longer," Loki said. "That is a command."

Steve did not answer—but his eyes cleared.

"Take hold of me," Loki ordered the others. Thor reached out and grasped Loki's left hand—and a moment later, Tony grabbed the back of Loki's collar. Loki tightened his grip on Steve's head.

He sucked in a sharp breath, and closed his eyes—

_Snap_.

Blackness. Screeching wind.

_Snap_.

Loki opened his eyes. Soft light and a soft breeze touched him. He lifted his head…

And let out a deep, shuddering breath.

They were surrounded by the domed ceiling, alabaster pillars, white curtains and warm golden glow of the broad, circular healing room.

The next moment, a chaos of bustling and shouting assaulted his senses—all the white-clad healing women that had not gone to the battle tents rushed back and forth, tending to the wounded palace guards—forcing them to sit on the beds, bandaging their heads or arms, or barking orders for water, salve or potions.

Suddenly, several of them caught sight of the quartet that had just appeared out of thin air and landed in the middle of the floor.

They all fell silent.

Then, a young woman swept to the front. Her light, curly brown hair was done up with purple gloxinia flowers, and her fresh face, delicate eyebrows and chestnut eyes were as bright as a breath of spring air through a morgue.

"Nanna," Thor said, letting go of Loki's hand and dragging himself to his feet. "Eir left you in command?"

"Yes, my prince," she nodded, stepping around Steve's head and kneeling beside him. Her white dress cascaded around her like a waterfall. She reached out and gently touched Steve's blonde head, frowning as she gazed across his wound. She lifted her gaze to Loki's.

"What is his name?"

"Steven," Loki answered. "He's been stabbed."

Nanna sat up.

"Illya, Ariel, come here," she ordered. "Please, my princes, give me room."

Obediently, Loki got to his feet, his whole body aching, and backed away.

Nanna returned her attention to Steve. A soft smile formed on her lips—she leaned over Steve's face as the other two healers drew near.

"Steven?" she called quietly. "Steven, my name is Nanna. You are in the palace of Asgard. You are safe." She stroked his hair away from his brow as his eyes rolled beneath his eyelids. Nanna glanced up at Loki. "Thank you, my prince—I can take it from here."

"Are you sure…?" Tony started, wincing as he stared down at Steve. Loki turned his back on them and spoke sideways to Tony, under his breath.

"These healers helped save Jane's life," Loki said, catching Tony's eye. "I trust them completely."

Tony held his gaze for a moment, uncertain.

Something flashed near the doors. Loki turned—

To see Logan skid into the healing room, panting.

"Where is Ulrik?" Loki called to him. Logan put his head down and maneuvered through the hustling crowd of healers.

"Back with your dad and mom, talking," Logan answered, swiping sweat out of his face. "Is everybody…" He stopped talking as he came up next to Loki. That moment, Nanna, Illya and Ariel sliced the shirt of Steven's suit in half and tore it from him, exposing the deep, bloody wound.

Logan stared, fixed, down at Steve. He swallowed hard.

"What—" he tried.

"He got stabbed," Tony said, suddenly pale. "But they've…They've got it. These girls have got it."

_Girls_.

The word suddenly sent a bolt of painful, thrilling electricity through each of their beings—and they all stopped moving.

"Holy crap," Tony breathed. "Where are the girls?"

"Come on," Loki beckoned, and hastened toward the back door, followed instantly by the other three.

AAAAA

Logan hurried after Thor, Tony and Loki, ignoring the arthritic ache in his joints and wrestling with protective instinct that was now tearing him in half—the instinct that demanded that he stay with Steve, but also that he go find Marie. He bit down and told himself Steve was being taken care of, but Marie was still lost.

He paced down a long stone hallway with the others, absently observing a major hitch in Thor's step—he had a hurt right hip. Tony wasn't wearing any of his armor any more, just his black jumpsuit and boots. The Suit must have gotten ruined in the fight. Loki looked like death warmed up—his black hair messy, blood on his neck, bruises on his face and his lip split. But none of them complained. They _would _find those girls—even if they dropped dead a second after.

"I believe they'll be in the lower level," Loki said, out of breath. "I doubt the dungeon cells held Sif for long—they may be loose, and hiding." He glanced at all of them, and pointed to a staircase. "Right down this way. Good luck." And with that, he trotted down the stairs.

Wincing, Thor followed as quickly as he could, Tony on his heels. Logan immediately followed suit, realizing that now, it was every man for himself.

The four of them hit the next level down and split off, Loki straight to the right, Thor to the right, then turning to the left, and Tony straight ahead. Almost immediately, Tony began shouting, "Pepper! Pep! Hey, it's me!"

Logan swallowed again, then turned to the left and marched that direction.

He had _no _idea where he was or where he was going—all these tall hallways and passages looked the same to him. He listened with all his might, searching the shadowy corners for any sign of movement, something in his chest tight and knotted…

He slowed. He stopped. He drew in a deep breath, scenting the air, frowning...

He blinked.

He smelled something. Something familiar.

He turned around.

A winsome figure stood near the bend in the hall. She had braided, mussed hair that hung over her shoulder, and she wore black. She held a sword in her right hand. A lamp on the wall illuminated half of her pretty features, and the dark blood that stained the blade and her hand.

Her eyes flashed. She dropped her sword. It clanged on the stones.

All of a sudden, when all he wanted to do was run to her, Logan couldn't move. His throat closed up and his vision blurred and his muscles turned to liquid.

Marie's face twisted. And she ran to _him_.

She raced down the hall, arms pumping, and leaped into his arms, wildly grabbing hold of him—

And all of a sudden he was kissing her.

His mouth just crashed into hers as his arms crushed her to his chest—for just one breathless, stunning, terrifying moment, their lips moved together, startled and floundering and desperate…

She pulled back, gasping, her eyes wide. He held her up off the floor—they stared into each other's eyes, not inches apart.

Logan stopped breathing and searched her gaze, suddenly afraid. She just watched him.

Then, gently, she smiled.

He blinked. An unguarded tear trailed down his face. Slowly, swallowing hard, he set her back down, his trembling arms refusing to let her go.

She lifted her hands from him for a moment, and reached around her neck. With a soft jingling, she lifted his necklace and dog tags over her head, stretched up, and hung them around Logan's neck again. She lowered her long-lashed eyes, then shyly glanced up at him. He managed to smile in return, his chest hurting.

Thoughtfully, she rested her hand over his heart—then leaned in and held him, nuzzling into his shirt.

"See? I knew you'd find me," she whispered.

And now that she couldn't see him, Logan let himself cry as he wrapped his arms around her and lay his cheek down on the top of her silken head.

AAAAA

Pepper stood a tiny alcove behind a statue in the hallway, gripping her sword in both sweaty hands. Earlier, she had heard fights raging in the neighboring hallways—Skrull shrieks and clashing weapons. But none had come down her hall, and now everything was quiet.

That could _not _be good.

She shivered from head to foot, swallowing. Her mouth was dry. She let go for a second to push a stray strand of messy hair out of her face.

"Okay, okay, calm down…" she whispered to herself, but her heart kept pounding.

Footsteps.

She froze.

Someone was coming.

"Oh, no, _oh_, no…" she winced, squeezing her eyes shut and tightening her grip on her sword. "Okay, Pepper, you can do this—"

The footsteps trotted nearer—came noisily banging _right _next to her—

Pepper lunged out from behind the statue and hacked down through the air.

The black-clad intruder yelped and leaped backward—

And let out a string of curses that were _definitely _familiar.

The tip of her sword thudded against the floor as she stared, stunned, at the jumpsuited man who had just caught his balance—he had scrapes on his face, his hair was mussed and his black eyes stared at her in shock.

"_Oh, _my—" she gasped.

"What the—What was _that?" _he demanded, gesturing to her sword.

"Tony!" she cried, suddenly feeling lightheaded. "What—What are you doing here?"

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a baffled look.

"What am I_ doing_ here? What do you _think _I'm doing here?" he shouted, glancing rapidly around before giving her an indignant, furious look. "I came looking for you and you just almost cut me in half!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you!" Pepper tried.

"—and I don't have one shred of armor on—you would have _killed _me—"

"Why, where's your armor?" Pepper frowned, her mind spinning.

"A small _mountain _fell on my head, bashed it up and I threw it away, but that isn't—" He shook that off and started another tirade. "Who cares, all right? I dumped the armor and came over here—"

"But there's a battle going on in here!" Pepper cut in. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm in love with you, okay?" Tony burst out.

Pepper's whole being stopped. She even stopped breathing.

Tony went pale, and shifted his weight. He swallowed—but kept going.

"Completely. Totally, insanely…Yeah." He paused, settled, and gazed at her. "And if anything ever happened to you, I don't know what I'd…" He frowned and shook his head. "Actually, yeah I do, 'cause I did it. I'd tear the planet apart." He met her eyes again—and his expression opened so she could see right into him.

"Then I'd fly all the way to another one just to make sure you're safe," he murmured. He closed his hand into a fist. "'Cause I finally…_really _know what it's like to wonder whether or not I'll ever see you again." He gave her a half, broken smile and a near-silent laugh. It fell from his face instantly, replaced by a twisted brow, his voice rough with emotion and his eyes bright. "And I've decided I hate that feeling. More than anything."

Pepper's lips parted, but she couldn't say anything. He cleared his throat again, took a breath, and glanced away.

"And I'm…I'm tired of all this screwing around. So I came all this way pretty much to tell you that." He nodded laboriously and held up a hand, still looking at the wall. "I know you think I'm a jerk and I _know _you can do way better than me, so…I'm not expecting anything back from you. I just…wanted to get that off my heavily-mechanized chest and move on with stuff—"

Pepper let go of her sword, took three steps toward him, slid her hands around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

Tony went completely still.

For a moment, they just stood like that, mouths locked together, as if the moment could fracture and vanish.

Then, Tony's arms swept around her, pulled her tight, and he leaned in and kissed her hard—she encircled his neck with her arms and answered, breathing with him, moving with him, her heart beating in time with his, recognizing the taste and the smell and the feel of him as if she'd been kissing him every day since they met.

Which, in a way—she had.

She tasted salt, felt water on her tongue. She frowned—_she _wasn't crying…

His lips broke from hers and he pressed his face to the crook of her neck—and she suddenly felt him quivering.

"Tony…" she whispered, her eyebrows coming together as she stroked the back of his hair with her hand.

"I'm sorry, Pep," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey," she smiled shakily, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his. "It's okay. I'm completely, totally and insanely in love with you, too."

AAAAA

Sif's knees shook as she yanked her blade out of the last Skrull's chest. She gulped and stepped back, panting, and wiped the sweat from her brow with her left forearm. She leaned back against the cold wall, trying to catch her breath, and closed her eyes. She didn't want to look at the carnage in front of her anymore—the dozen dead Skrulls bleeding all over the marble floor.

Her shaking hand let go of her sword—it clanged against the stone. She fought to take deep, even breaths—she had run out of strength. She knew blood smeared her face, her right thigh had been sliced open, her ribs bruised and her hair scorched. If one more Skrull came down this hallway, she wouldn't be able to stand up off the wall let alone…

Someone was coming.

She sensed him before she heard him. She swallowed hard, and made herself open her eyes.

Uneven footsteps thudded this direction. Distantly, she frowned. Whoever it was was making no effort at stealth…

He came around the corner.

And Sif's heart gave one hard bang.

He wore the clothes that he usually donned under his armor—red cloth, portions of which were now stuck to him with a mix of perspiration and blood. His long golden hair and his beard were also stained with blood and dirt, he breathed raggedly, and his whole broad frame stood unsteady. His vivid blue gaze sliced across the distance—

And met hers.

For just an instant, Sif almost burst into tears.

She sucked in a breath, hard, and forced herself to straighten up.

"My prince," she managed, ironing out her voice, even though her whole body shook. "I…I've been defending Odin's tesseract. I tried to—" she stepped toward him—

And her right leg gave out.

She fell to her knees.

Thor lunged toward her—he grunted in pain and stopped, then lifted his right leg and hopped toward her. He bent down and picked her up by the arms. She stared up into his bruised, handsome face, alarmed.

"You are wounded!" she gasped—and before she knew it she had pressed her fluttering fingers to his cheek. He stared down at her, his expression tense and utterly serious—

And he took her face in his warm, calloused hands. She stopped moving.

"I love you," Thor said softly, tightly. "Will you marry me?"

Sif blinked. Her throat choked and her heart whirled in her chest.

"What?" she breathed.

"Please, Sif," he pleaded quietly, leaning closer. "Please tell me I am not too late."

Sif couldn't speak. She just gazed at him, her mind in a spin…

And he held her eyes, his jaw muscles working, his mouth tight, his eyebrows drawn together.

Her expression broke, and tears finally fell down her cheeks.

"Too late?" she said, her lip trembling. "Do you _know_ how long I've loved you?"

He hesitated, blinking—

And before she could stop herself, she had closed the distance between their mouths.

She kissed him over and over, gently, deeply—she could taste how much he hurt, how weak his body was, but he responded eagerly, lingering on her lips, leaving his hands where they were, gently cradling her neck. Neither of their wounds let them pull the other in or hold each other tightly. But in that moment, all of their pain faded, and vanished as if it had never been.

AAAAA

Jane wasn't sure where she was. But caring about where she was was the last thing on her mind. She didn't care about anything—didn't notice anything. She had wandered the halls for a while, listening to the echoes, then the silence. She had put her sword down someplace next to a statue—its weight had started to bother her.

Now, she stood in front of an intricately-carved wooden door, staring at it, seeing nothing.

A voice. Far away. It made a sound she should know...

Tiredly, she frowned, and slowly blinked. She wrapped her arms around herself. Something told her she shouldn't be found…

That voice again. That familiar sound.

_Jane…_

_Jane._

"Jane?"

Sudden and immediate, that voice cut through the haze in her mind.

She turned her head.

Far down the hall, a tall figure walked unsteadily toward her. He wore a long, dark coat that fluttered around his legs. When he passed a lamp, she caught sight of his pale, angular face, glittering green eyes and furrowed brow—his long ebony hair in disarray. He was looking, looking, but he couldn't see her—she could tell. She wouldn't let him see her. She had to hide…

"Jane?" he said again—she watched his soft lips move. She frowned harder, resenting the effort it took to listen to him, to watch him…

He kept walking, kept glancing back and forth, his expression becoming earnest, worried…

"_Alskling?"_

She gasped. A shaft of pain traveled from the crown of her head, all the way through her body to her heels. Her guard faltered, disappeared.

He jerked to a stop. He stared at her—right at her. He could see her now.

"Loki," she tried—but she didn't make a sound. Her mouth just moved, feebly.

"Jane?" he repeated, studying her.

"_Loki_," she mouthed again—and, shivering, pulled her arms from around herself and did the only thing she could: held her arms out to him with all her might.

He ran to her.

The next instant he swept her up, lifting her off the floor, wrapping his arms all the way around her and pressing his lips to her throat.

And all at once, in an overwhelming flood of sensation, Jane came back to herself.

She could _feel _him—the cloth and metal and leather of his clothes beneath her fingers and arms, the softness of his hair against her face, the rugged, earthy scent of his skin and the pounding of his pulse against her chest.

He was _here_.

Jane broke down and sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut and clinging desperately to him. Neither of them said anything. They just held each other, tears mingling, listening to the beating of each other's hearts, as silence fell all around them.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_

_And come find me on Facebook, people! We have a blast over there (And I'm about to post the vids that I used for inspiration for these lovely reunions:) Also, there appears to be a Loki and Jane FB page—pretty fun:))_


	23. Chapter 23

_Whew! What a fun and delightful journey! And it would not have been half as fun or delightful were it not for you, my faithful readers! I cherish each and every review (I read them over and over!) and I am so thrilled that you have enjoyed this adventure with me:) I hope you enjoy this last chapter the most._

_For the FIRST section, you must listen to the Thor Soundtrack: "Science and Magic."_

_For the SECOND section, listen to the __Prince Caspian soundtrack: "The Door in the Air."_

_For the THIRD section, you MUST, MUST, MUST listen to The Young Victoria Soundtrack "Victoria and Albert." MUST. No option. It was written in sync with the music—if you don't listen, you'll miss a whole layer of narrative. _

_And for the FIFTH (LAST) section you MUST listen to the Thor Soundtrack: "Earth to Asgard." Like I said, you'll be majorly missing something if you don't. ;) I will write the title of the song above each section, so you won't forget:))_

_Enjoy!_

Chapter 23

"_I have died every day_

_Waiting for you_

_Darling, don't be afraid—_

_I have loved you for a thousand years._

_I'll love you for a thousand more._

_All along, I believed I would find you._

_Time has brought your heart to me—_

_I have loved you for a thousand years._

_I'll love you for a thousand more."_

_-A Thousand Years_

_Science and Magic_

The air in the orchards behind the palace was drenched in the sweet scent of apple-blossoms. Evening was falling, casting soft, purplish, rich light and bringing out the deepest colors in the emerald lawn, the millions of flowers, and the feathery-blue sky above. Birds sang sleepily in the thickets, and far off, the ringing, laughing noise of a group of children playing ball caught Thor's hearing—he glanced in that direction, toward the far lawn that was obscured by a hedgerow, and smiled. His booted feet crunched on the gravel of the pathway as he walked, taking it slow, favoring his leg. He held a wooden cane in his right hand, and leaned on it for support. He would never have borne such a show of weakness—except that if he did not have it, he would have been unable to walk with Sif this evening.

He glanced to his left at her. She wore a long, light-green, flowing gown and gold belt, and her hair was undone—it fell like an ebony waterfall down to the middle of her back, and curled gently across her shoulders. She met his glance, keeping pace with him, even though it was slow.

He smiled at her, suddenly nervous. She smiled back, lifting an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You look pretty tonight," he blurted. Then he cleared his throat. "Not…Not that you do not _always _look pretty, but…And 'pretty' cannot truly describe what you…" He cleared his throat again and felt his face heat up. He faced the path again, determined not to speak again if he was going to make an idiot out of himself. Sif's smile broadened, she rolled her eyes, then reached down and slid her right hand into his left one. Thor swallowed hard, looking at her again. She was still smiling, though she faced straight ahead now. He closed his fingers around hers. They felt unexpectedly soft, delicate. Odd. He'd kissed her once, on impulse—he'd kissed her again in the hallway after they had both nearly been killed. He had _proposed _to her, for Valhalla's sake. But he had never, _ever _just walked with her through the gardens, holding her hand.

"How is your wound?" she asked. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Not at all," Thor flatly lied.

"Mine does," Sif confessed with a sigh. He shot her a startled look.

"Do you wish to sit down? There are benches up here. We can—"

She shook her head, but glanced at him warmly.

"No, I am fine." She leaned over and kissed his shoulder. "But thank you for asking."

All at once, Thor truly _did _feel no pain. His face heated again, and he cleared his throat once more. This was going to take some getting used to. He adjusted his grip on Sif's hand and pulled her closer, smiling to himself.

They said no more for a while as they slowly trailed downhill toward the walled gardens. The followed the winding path through the tulip beds, watching the hundreds of white butterflies dance from bloom to bloom. Absently, Thor remembered strolling through this very garden with Jane—hurrying, rather. At that time, the flowers had held absolutely no interest for him, and he hadn't understood Jane's fascination at all. But now, as he watched Sif's long, graceful fingers trail through the multi-colored blossoms, listened to her murmur about their beauty, and watched the evening light play across her face and hair, he filled with all sorts of foolish thoughts and sensations. Suddenly, he wanted to pick a bunch of them and surprise her—bring them to her so she could decorate all her chambers with them and could see them all the time, without having to make a special trip down to the gardens…

Sif stopped, her head coming up. Thor blinked, coming out of his planning reverie, and followed her gaze.

The door to Loki's garden hung open. And soft voices issued from within. Thor glanced over at Sif. She returned the look, and together they quietly crept toward the door in the stone, ivy-colored wall.

"We shouldn't intrude," Sif whispered. Thor shook his head once.

"We won't."

Brow furrowing, he drew near the door and he and Sif peeked through.

Near the center of the garden, in a portion partially shaded by a weeping willow, Jane sat on a large, smooth black rock. She wore a sweeping white gown with an empire waist—her hair had been curled and bound half up. She looked beautiful—but sad, subdued. Her long-lashed brown eyes gazed downward, at a small white blossom she held on her lap.

Loki stood near her, casting quietly about for something. He stretched out a pale hand and plucked a red rose from atop a bush, and murmured something to her, turning toward her. She didn't look up. Loki didn't mind. He held out the rose so she could see—she lifted her hand and touched it with her fingertips, then murmured something back. He nodded, and kept talking, so low that Thor could not understand. Loki reached out and tucked the flower behind her ear—her eyes drifted shut, a line forming between her eyebrows. Loki continued speaking softly, securing the rose and then gently stroking her hair away from her face and neck. He leaned down, and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, then on the cheek.

Thor pulled lightly on Sif's hand. She gave in, and together they continued on down the path, leaving Thor's brother and his wife alone.

Sif gripped Thor's hand tighter, and as they passed into the daffodil garden, he heard her sniff—

He glanced at her, thrown—

To see her swipe a tear away.

"Sif!" he gasped, stopping in his tracks. She shook her head hard, and drew herself up.

"I am fine," she insisted. He stared at her, stunned.

"I have never seen you cry."

She gave a watery laugh, blinked, wiped at her face and looked away.

"Just because you have never seen it doesn't mean it has never happened."

He kept hold of her hand.

"What's wrong?"

She smiled shakily at him.

"Jane's baby," she whispered. She swallowed. Slowly, Thor nodded, the weight in his chest growing heavier.

"But," Sif said, gathering herself. "I will not let her see me weep. We have to be strong for her. For…For both of them."

Thor nodded again, understanding. She took a few deep breaths, and when she smiled at him again, she was confident.

"Better now," she assured him. He smiled back at her, and together they continued down the path.

They ascended a flight of gradually-inclining, winding white steps, taking their time as they did, and attaining a broad stone patio that overlooked the pear orchard. They had heard voices on their climb, and now Thor confirmed what he had guessed—the patio was occupied by Tony and Pepper.

They sat on a wicker couch together, facing each other, goblets of wine in their hands. Tony wore a loose maroon shirt and black pants and boots—his hair had been combed but not tamed, and he finally looked relaxed, well-rested, for the first time in the six days he'd been in Asgard. Pepper wore a gown similar to the one Sif was wearing, only Pepper's was blue, and her long red hair tumbled down around her shoulders. Thor had not had time to study her before, but Pepper was a stunningly-beautiful woman. He wondered how Stark had managed to miss this fact.

When Thor and Sif stepped onto the patio, Pepper was in the middle of saying something—Tony's attention was fixed on her. He nodded as he listened, his cup of wine seemingly forgotten. Pepper was the one who noticed the newcomers, and looked up to give them a bright smile.

"Hello! How are you?"

"We are well," Sif answered. "Out for a walk."

"Isn't it a gorgeous evening?" Pepper commented with a wistful sigh.

"Yes, it is," Thor nodded. Tony turned and gave Thor a grin.

"I was just telling Pep that I could really get used to it here." He turned back to Pepper and winked at her. "I love what this Asgardian style has done for Pepper's wardrobe."

She laughed and blushed.

"We won't trouble you," Thor said, easing Sif forward again.

"Oh, come back up in a little while if you want," Pepper urged, reaching out briefly toward Sif. "We can eat a little something and watch the sun set."

"Yeah, do that," Tony encouraged. "The view up here is spectacular."

"We will, thank you," Sif nodded.

"Anyway, you were saying?" Tony prompted, turning back toward Pepper.

"Um…I was just…Oh, yeah—well, my freshman year of college was—"

"Yeah, crappy—that's why you transferred, right?"

"Yes, that, and I wanted to pursue another field of study…"

Thor and Sif climbed another set of stairs to a different terrace—a much broader one that led in to a fountain room, then the rest of the palace. Several meters away, near a large pillar, Thor caught sight of Steve, swathed in sheets and propped up on pillows in a narrow couch-bed, quietly talking with Frigg and Odin, who sat in their own chairs very near him. Thor and Sif kept walking, but he watched them—heard Odin chuckle, saw Frigg smile and brush a strand of hair away from Steve's forehead. Steve looked calm, peaceful—he had good color in his face, and his eyes were bright again. Once in a while, he grinned at something one of Thor's parents said, and nodded, answering them.

Then, Nanna emerged, bringing a small glass of drink with her. She called Steve's name—his head came around and his gaze found her. Thor saw him blush. He greeted her. She smiled at him, begged pardon of the monarchs, and drew near to hand Steve his medicine. They exchanged a few words—Steve's eyes never left her face.

Thor's gaze lingered on the four of them for a moment, then he had to pay attention to the descending stairs.

As they headed down into the orchards again, movement caught Thor's attention. He glanced to his right to see a pair of horses and riders canter out between the rows of trees—a bay and a white.

"Logan and Marie," Sif spoke into his wondering. "They've been asking to go riding all week."

Thor smiled as he watched them—they both appeared to be accomplished riders. They guided their horses expertly, subtly and swiftly away down the meandering paths, until he could not see them anymore.

Thor and Sif then crossed the lush grass into a park filled with oak trees. The sun was going down—it was getting dim outside, and cool.

"I think I _will _sit down for a moment," Sif decided. "Join me?"

"Of course," Thor answered, and together they eased down onto a wide stone bench overshadowed by a mighty oak. Unintentionally, Thor winced as brief pain shot up through his leg—but if Sif noticed, she didn't say anything. She just sighed and eased back, stretching out her own healing leg.

For a long while, they were silent, listening to the evening sounds. A bird flitted into the branches above them, settled, and began to sing. Thor recognized it as a nightingale. Sif tilted her head as she considered its song.

"Thor?" she said quietly.

She had said his name millions—probably billions—of times during all the while he had known her. But all of a sudden, when she said it now, it made him thrill from the center of his chest and out to the entirety of his body—and he could do nothing but look to her.

"Yes?"

A delicate frown had formed on her face, and her eyes became distant.

"When you asked me to marry you, in the corridor outside the armory…" she met his eyes. "Did you mean it?"

He gazed back at her, gripped with sudden, arresting terror.

He nodded.

"Yes. I did."

"Good," she said. "Because I just now realized I never gave you a proper answer."

Thor mentally jolted—and then his terror transformed into a different type entirely. He sat very still, unable to think of anything to say, and dreading having to prompt her, for fear of what _she _might say…

"My answer is yes," she said. "On one condition."

Thor was glad he was sitting down. His mind was suddenly spinning.

"What…What condition?"

She looked at him frankly, her dark eyes bright.

"I want to be courted."

He blinked.

"Er…What?"

"Courted," she repeated. "I want you to arrange times to call on me—I want you to find things for us to do together that do not involve weapons of any kind. I want to have several reasons to put on all of the beautiful gowns I have hanging in my wardrobe that I _never _wear. I want you to arrange for a dinner for us in the north tower—just the two of us. I want you to look clean and presentable when you are near me—polite and courteous and protective. I want you to escort me to dinner and sit with me, give me compliments on my hair and perfume. I want you to bring me flowers, write me letters about my beauty and how much you love me."

Thor's mind fought to keep up as he mentally jotted down everything she said.

"As you wish," he finally managed. "For how long?"

She smiled quietly, and subtly, saucily, canted her head as she glanced out over the park.

"I'll let you know."

Thor stared at her, utterly fascinated. His heart started beating faster.

"Are there…" he ventured. "Any rules about when I may kiss you?"

She met his eyes—hers sparkled.

"Yes," she said. "You must kiss me _whenever_ the inclination enters your head."

Thor hardly let her finish. He slid toward her, wrapped his arms around her slender waist and pressed his lips to hers, taking a deep breath of her floral scent as a deep warmth rushed through his chest, realizing how much he was actually going to enjoy doing everything she asked.

AAAAA

_The Door in the Air_

The dark sky above Asgard glowed—the entire palace was alight, inside and out. The sky itself was streaked with silvery clouds, and beyond them stretched soft, infinite, twinkling starlight, and a vast universe of colorful realms and planets beyond that. The scent of cooking venison, pheasant, game-hen, pork; baking bread, grilled fish and vegetables filled the air, along with various types of incense, and the rich smell of burning torch oil. Laughing rang through every corridor—children raced back and forth between the legs of their parents, giggling and horse-playing, for everyone seemed to have forgotten it was past bedtime. Lively, dancing music from lute and flute drifted out across the grounds, interrupted occasionally by the clatter of plates, or the singing of pouring wine.

Gentle wind wafted around the towers, catching Loki's long hair and dress cape. He sat sideways on the wide railing wall of the balcony nearest the feasting hall, half in cool darkness, half in golden light. He tilted his head back, watching the clouds slowly drift past and the stars wink down at him. His helmet rested in his lap—he sighed, leaned back against a broad stone, and turned his head to consider those inside the glow of the hall.

The huge room was filled to the brim with courtiers and guests from the city. Many of them still sat at the table, finishing their raspberry-chocolate dessert and talking. Tony, seated next to Pepper, had not taken his arm from around her all night, and both had been laughing and chatting with everyone in the room. Pepper wore a beautiful green gown that sparkled with her every movement, and her hair was done up with silver clips, a few curling strands hanging elegantly down around her face. Tony had been given a loose-fitting, elaborately-embroidered deep green shirt, black trousers and boots, and a set of light silver chest-and-shoulder armor that emphasized the eye-catching glow of his reactor. He still appeared relaxed, contented even, and happy to listen to others as they spoke, without interrupting. And Pepper simply shone.

Thor had been just as attentive to Sif throughout the evening, his attentions continually surprising and delighting her. She wore a long gown the color of midnight on Asgard, and Loki had performed a spell on her black hair so that, when she moved, blue flame flickered from the strands. She was stunning—stole the attention of every man in the room. But she only gave hers to Thor. Thor, who wore his dress armor, resplendent in a new scarlet cape and leather belt, a great, beaming, constant grin on his face, his laugh at Sif's comments rumbling through the chamber.

Logan and Marie spoke and moved as if performing movements to a dance both of them had known all their lives—though Logan was smiling a great deal more than Loki had ever thought possible. Marie's simple dress, the shade of a fading sunset, complimented her winsome figure, and the long sleeves ended in graceful gloves. She wore her hair up as well, moonstones adorning her dark locks. Logan had donned a loose white shirt and brown trousers and boots, yet he looked as ruggedly-prince-like as any of them.

Steve, garbed in quiet blue embroidered with silver, and wearing silver bracers and a silver belt, had finally recovered after a week and a half of healing treatments, and had been able to walk into the feasting hall unaided. He had been assigned a seat next to sweet Nanna, the healer's second-in-command. Loki had noticed that Steve had been very quiet at first, but Nanna, elegantly and simply dressed, with dandelions in her hair, had eventually drawn him out, and soon had him grinning at her innocent wit.

Jane had declined the invitation to the great feast. She said she had not been feeling well. Thus, for Loki, a great deal of the merriment had been taken out of the festivities. The only time the shadow had lifted from him had been during the ceremony.

Before beginning the meal, the courtiers had been seated in the hall, and Loki, Thor, Ulrik, Steve, Logan and Tony had waited out in the silent corridor. Then, at the sound of Odin's powerful, beckoning call, the six of them, dressed in their shining finest, had strode through the great double doors and into the huge, applauding crowd. Flower petals had been tossed in the air, raining across them. Happy faces beamed, voices cheered. Loki's chest had swelled, and he exchanged a smile with Thor that made his heart ache. Steve and Logan had been startled by their loud reception—it took them a few moments to grin and wave back. Tony seemed used to it—smiled and nodded, but kept his attention forward, toward the dais, where the king and queen had sat.

Fearsome Ulrik, striding on the other side of Loki, earned a few curious glances, but as he and his senior officials had been staying in Asgard for almost a fortnight, his novelty had worn off somewhat—and earlier that day, a few Aesir had even dared to engage him in conversation.

Together, the six of them had stopped, in a line before the dais, and knelt in front of Odin. Odin had risen from his seat, gazed across at all of them, and presented them with their reward.

"Know this," he had said. "These which I bestow upon you are gifts—tokens of my thanks and good will. Any or all of them may be refused, without harming the deep and abiding respect and love I bear for each one of you brave warriors.

To Steven Rogers Josephson—for traveling through the realms to save a realm that is not your own, and for being willing to pay the ultimate price to preserve it: I offer you the chance to become an Aesir, and join my family here in Asgard.

To James Logan—for raw bravery, and for putting to death the enemy that nearly toppled this realm: I offer the ability to touch your beloved, without fear of harm, as well as an invitation to cross into Asgard at will, as a welcome guest.

To Anthony Stark Howardson—for the cool use of intelligence and command when the situation was the most dark and dire: I give the silver goblet used at the wedding between the queen and myself. Any marriage begun with this goblet is sure to be blessed. To you, also, I extend the invitation to journey to Asgard as a favored friend.

To King Ulrik Laufeyson—for coming to our aid in good faith, and displaying unmatched courage, we offer you and your realm an alliance. If ever Jotunheim should need the aid of Asgard, we shall answer your call.

To Loki Odinson—the son of my heart—I offer you a gift I have been waiting for years to bestow. I offer you the ownership and governance of the Asgard Magic-Science Academy, knowing you and you alone can be its finest master.

To Thor Odinson—the son of my body—I offer you the crown of Asgard, a great and mighty mantle to be taken up as soon as you are willing."

Now, as he sat on the wall, Loki opened his eyes, the memory of his father's deep voice fading to the back of his mind. And as it did, he noticed a presence ease out onto the balcony with him—a very tall presence. He sat up.

"Do not trouble yourself," Ulrik told him, holding up a hand and stepping out toward him. The moonlight caught the deep sheen of his majestic armor and the sapphire of his skin—and the glitter of his emerald eyes as he glanced at Loki. "Rest, brother."

Loki stayed still, listening as that word echoed quietly inside him. Ulrik came up near Loki's feet, folded his arms and gazed out over the bright, glimmering lights of the city below. He took a deep breath.

"It truly is a magnificent realm," he decided. He turned his head and met Loki's eyes. "It suits you."

"Thank you," Loki answered sincerely—and in that instant, each of their individual wonderings were put to rest. Ulrik breathed in again, and turned his attention to the horizon.

"I will miss you, though," he murmured.

Loki's hands tightened around his helmet as he gazed sharply at his twin, something inside his chest twisting. He made himself speak.

"Then…I will come visit you."

Ulrik turned his head and raised his eyebrows at him.

"I did not think you enjoyed ice and snow."

"I don't," Loki admitted. "And you do not prefer this warm climate, yet here you stay."

Ulrik chuckled. It made a sound like tumbling rocks.

"Yes—but there has been a _reason _for me to stay."

"Then there is a reason for me to visit the ice and snow," Loki countered. Ulrik studied him for a long moment.

"I will not tell you that I fully understand what such a gesture means to you," Ulrik finally said, his gaze intensifying."I can only assure you of how much it means to _me_."

Loki swallowed, then nodded. He opened his mouth to speak—then realized he had no idea what to say. Ulrik smiled at him, and stepped closer.

"Don't be anxious. I am lost, too." He held out his broad right hand. "We'll find our way together."

Loki grasped his hand. And this time, the ice that flowed down through his fingers did not hurt—it cooled and calmed him. He managed a smile as he gazed up at the Frost Giant.

Ulrik let go, and took a few steps back, heading to the feast.

"Your wife really is a pretty little thing," he commented, his smile broadening.

"Thank you," Loki said, modestly ducking his head.

"I wish you the best of luck."

Loki's head came up, and their gazes met—and Ulrik had turned quiet and solemn. Loki swallowed hard, fighting back an overpowering swell of pain. He cleared his throat, and only found the strength to nod. Ulrik lingered a moment, his expression softening—and Loki drew from it, taking deep breaths, and finally nodding once more. Ulrik gave him one more smile, then returned to the light and the noises of the banquet hall as smoothly as he had left them.

Loki set his helmet down on the balcony floor and wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling cold.

"Is he staying?"

Loki almost jumped. His head came around—

To see Thor, arms crossed, standing by a corner pillar in the shadow. Loki cleared his throat again and shook his head.

"No. I imagine he will be returning to Jotunheim within the week."

"Are _you_ staying?"

Loki stopped. He frowned.

"Am I what?"

"I am asking you," Thor said. "Are you staying?"

Loki arched an eyebrow.

"As opposed to what?"

"Going to Jotunheim."

Loki snorted, then turned away and laughed quietly. But Thor didn't say anything. Loki's smile faded and he turned back toward Thor, brow furrowed.

"Wait—you mean that?"

"You are their king," Thor answered flatly, still shrouded in darkness. "And he is your brother."

For a long while, Loki considered him. Then, he turned and gazed out over Asgard.

Thor stayed where he was for a moment longer, then strode out to him. Loki glanced up—Thor's moonbathed face gazed out across the night, his jaw tight and his brow frowning. He breathed unevenly, his fists clenched—but for once in his life, he didn't seem to be able to speak. Loki watched his chiseled countenance for a moment, then fixed his gaze on the horizon, where the distant ocean glimmered.

"Jotunheim already has a king," Loki murmured. "And I already have a brother."

Thor shifted—turned slightly toward him. Loki glanced down, then reached out with his right hand and took hold of Thor's wrist. Thor stayed still for an instant, then relaxed his hand and wrapped his fingers around Loki's wrist.

For a long while, they stayed that way, both of them gazing at the faraway sea.

At last, Thor squeezed Loki's wrist and released him, and the tension left his great frame. Loki sighed, and wrapped his arms around his chest again, listening to a nightingale down below twittering to herself.

"What do you think of Father's gifts?" Thor mused. "Do you think Steven will accept his?"

"I hope so," Loki said, frowning softly. "He has had such a small, storm of a life. He deserves a little peace."

"What about Logan?"

"No doubt," Loki smirked, shaking his head. "And then we'll be having a double wedding."

"A double—You truly think Tony will wed Pepper?"

Loki nodded.

"I do. And he should."

"I agree—but I wonder if he can be persuaded to marry her so quickly."

"Aha," Loki chuckled. "I was looking for a new project. That will do."

Thor answered his chuckle—the rich sound made Loki grin. But once again, it faded as he gazed up at his brother.

"And what about you?"

Thor glanced down at him.

"Me," Thor said.

"Yes, you," Loki pressed.

Thor lowered his head.

"I still do not know if I am ready," he confessed softly.

Loki paused a moment, his body still, his gaze at his brother unfaltering.

"After what I have now seen," Loki said, his voice even and strong. "I have nodoubt you will be the greatest king Asgard has ever known."

Thor looked at him. Loki held his gaze. Thor smiled, and rested his hand on Loki's hair.

"Thank you, brother."

Loki inclined his head.

"You're welcome, your majesty."

"Ha," Thor shook his head and pointed at him. "Now don't. You can't start that until _after_ the coronation."

"I do what I want," Loki answered briskly. Thor laughed harder.

"Shut up."

"After you."

"Come," Thor said, grabbing his arm and pulling on him. "Come inside, before you catch your death of cold."

Rather than argue that it was a near impossibility for him to freeze to death, under _any _circumstances, Loki got up, and let himself be led by Thor back toward the hall, toward the light and the music and the brotherhood of men within—and allow all of that, in concert, to warm him down to his bones.

AAAAA

_Victoria and Albert_

Far overhead, in the deep blue depths of the sky above Midgard, the stars twinkled mutely, bright as holes in the floor of heaven. Not a wisp of cloud obstructed a single star, and not a breath of wind stirred the air.

Jane tilted her head back to gaze over the top of the golden, dancing flames at the autumn constellations—familiar, distant and silent. The sticks within the fire off to her right crackled and snapped quietly, lifting pine scent and subtle smoke up into the night.

Loki shifted closer to her—she adjusted and laid her head onto his black collar. She felt him reach behind her and rest his hand on the soft fleece blanket, so her shoulder pressed against his chest. He leaned the side of his face against her hair. Jane sighed, closed her eyes for a moment, then gazed out before them at the broad, shadowed circle of interconnected knots and patterns imbedded magically in the dust. Her eyes lingered on the middle of it—on the three different, intertwined, central knots.

"Are you cold?" Loki asked, his low voice murmuring through her head and all down her body.

"No," she murmured, wrapping her blanket tighter around her and shaking her head once. "Tell me which one is which, again."

Loki drew a breath, reached over with his left hand and took hers up, then curled his fingers around hers. His touch was warm, strong.

"The top left is Loki, son of Odin, brother of Thor," he said. "The top right is Jane, daughter of John, wife of Loki Odinson. And beneath them both…" Loki took another breath, and his voice lowered to a whisper. "Is Cinderella, first daughter of the house of Lokison."

He went quiet. Jane listened to the sputter of the fire as the light and dark danced across the intricate design.

"And this was what you were going to show me earlier?" she said. "When we came here to visit Erik?"

"Yes," Loki answered. "I wanted to show you our new wedding knot. But…I admit, I didn't look at it very closely at the time. I didn't see her."

Jane didn't answer. Faint echoes passed through her mind. Her vision unfocused.

"Jane."

Loki's tone had changed. He pulled away from her, and turned. She was obliged to straighten, and face him. He crossed his legs, and took both her hands in his—they rested on the soft blanket between them.

"Jane," he said again, and Jane looked up at him. She could see most of his face in the firelight—pale and angular and handsome, his mouth softened, his eyes bright and intent, his brow furrowed and earnest, strands of black hair hanging down across his forehead. Jane swallowed, and tried to listen.

"I need to tell you something," he began. "Something very important—something I have decided."

She gazed back at him, her chest constricting—but she nodded once.

"We are not giving up," he told her.

Jane ducked her head, her throat closing. Loki let go of her with his left hand and reached up, pressing his warm fingers under her chin and lifting her face.

"Jane, do you hear me?"

Jane blinked—tears ran down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb, and leaned closer, his voice calm and fervent.

"What they have done to us—it is unthinkable. Unbearable." His right hand squeezed her fingers—he tilted his head to capture her gaze. "But we will bear it. We _must _bear it. Because we will not allow them to conquer us, Jane. We have fought them, and defeated them—and we will utterly destroy them." He stroked her face, and her hair—and smiled. "And we will laugh at them, and call them _fools_ as our children and grandchildren play in the sunshine all around us."

Jane choked and began to cry—Loki bent closer, sliding his hand down and taking gentle hold of the side of her neck.

"You will see," he vowed. "In the end, this will be only a passing thing. And I am here, Jane." His eyes softened. "I will always be here."

Jane lifted her hand and stroked his soft forehead, the bridge of his nose, then his cheekbone. His brow furrowed tightly.

"You have no idea," Jane whispered brokenly. "How much I missed you."

His eyes flickered.

"I never left you," he whispered.

Her brow twisted—but his emerald gaze held onto her. He reached out and took up the Lokistone, and rested the back of his fingers on her breastbone. His eyes burned into hers.

"I lived in every beat of your heart and every breath you took." He shook his head. "How could I leave you? My heart is inside you—even if they took you to the furthest edge of the galaxy, they couldn't separate you from me. Never for one moment did you leave my thoughts—never did I give up on finding you again. My dearest wife…" He took her face in his hands. "I was with you all the time."

She leaned in and kissed him—closed her eyes, pressed her lips to his and wrapped her arms around his neck. He enveloped her in his embrace, pulling her tight into his chest—into his warmth and strength. Their mouths moved together gently, both of them tasting bittersweet sorrow, relief and comfort on their tongues. Then, when their lips parted, Loki laced his fingers through Jane's hair, lowered his mouth to her face and kissed away every single tear.

EPILOGUE

"Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero."

-Marc Brown

"Hey—stay away from the pizza," Tony warned, waving the other men off. "Guys, we don't eat until _after _the conference call, okay? Thor—dude, don't. You'll get tomato sauce in your beard and make a bad impression."

"Keeping Thor away from food is like trying to prevent an avalanche," Loki said, rolling his eyes.

"I had nothing to eat this morning," Thor complained, standing over the glass coffee table and staring down at the three stacked pizza boxes.

"Whose fault is that?" Loki quipped.

"You're a major pouter," Logan commented, walking past the towering man toward Tony and the huge flat screen TV he had mounted on the wall.

"He's going to make it rain in here," Steve realized, watching him. "Look at his face."

The five of them stood in one of the highest floors of Tony Stark's skyscraper in New York City. The room was expensively furnished but businesslike—decorated in earth tones, built for conferences or meals alike. Broad windows overlooked the gray city far below, and let in the afternoon light. All the Avengers had dressed casually but smartly, and when Tony called to them, they reluctantly left the pizza table and gathered around him, facing the giant screen.

"Okay, here goes," Tony said, flipping a switch.

The next moment, the familiar face of Nick Fury appeared, gazing back at them.

"Ha! So the rumors are true," he declared, looking pleased. "All you guys survived."

"Yeah, we did, actually," Tony answered, folding his arms. "It was a close call, but yeah. No thanks to your lovely Czarina friend."

The levity disappeared from Fury's face.

"There is nothing I can possibly say," he began in a low voice. "That will fully convey how deeply I regret everything that happened because of Natasha Romaov."

"What was her deal, anyway?" Logan wanted to know. "Why'd she do it?"

Fury shifted.

"Near as we can tell, she's been working for Dr. Doom for close to fifteen years," he explained. "First just as a freelance assassin, then as a technical operative, then as one of his closest agents. She was already a professional spy—he gave her the resources to cover her tracks so _no one _could find them. And…he paid well."

Logan ground his teeth. Loki's gaze burned.

"And you find this out _now_," Tony said. Fury shrugged.

"Look, things got just slightly easier when both of them were _off planet."_

"Yeah, you're welcome," Steve muttered.

"Okay, sorry—we'll just cut to the chase, here," Tony interrupted. "We've got someplace to be, and then a bunch of us are on wedding detail. We just wanted to tell you that…Well, _I _wanted to call to tell you that I'm resigning from SHIELD. Steve, too."

Fury's eyes went wide, but Steve nodded.

"And actually, none of us are really interested in taking orders from you guys. Anymore," Tony continued. "But, if you'd like, we'll go ahead and use you as consultants, if that's okay. I think the five of our allowances combined will probably be able to cover whatever your fee is."

"Stark," Fury warned. "There is _no way_ just you five guys can take on all the freaks that are about to rear their heads all over this planet—not without us. Listen for a second—"

"No, you listen, Colonel," Tony cut in severely. "I'm a genius, billionaire philanthropist with a _nearly _un-breakable suit, Steve's a super-soldier and a soon-to-be Aesir warrior, we've got a couple Asgardian princes that can pretty much kick anybody's butt all by themselves, and Logan's got the power to heal from three-dozen bullet wounds at once, plus he's got indestructible bones and foot-long claws." Tony held his hands out to his sides and gave Fury a mock wince. "I think we've got it covered. So, yeah," he shrugged, and put his arms down. "We'll call you if we need you."

"Stark—" Fury tried again, but Tony reached up and flipped the switch, turning off the screen. He heaved a breath, turned around and faced the others.

"Okay, guys—let's eat and get rolling. We don't wanna be late."

AAAAA

_Earth to Asgard_

At about six o'clock in the evening, November eleventh, the people of New York City began to take down the trappings of that afternoon's Memorial Day celebrations. As the traffic thinned and the streets grew quieter, the proprietors and flat owners stepped out onto the sidewalks or leaned out windows to pull their flags from their stands and roll them up. These people paused for a moment as they did this to listen to the distant roar of automobiles, and to watch the golden light fall against the broad sides of the skyscrapers.

Downtown, in the business district, what little traffic there had been during the day now faded to next to nothing. Fresh cleanup crews in rumbling trucks, backhoes and lifts, accompanied by squads of firemen and EMTs trundled in. New workers, all suited up, strode onto the scene to relieve the guys who had been slaving all day in the dust and grime of the wreckage—fishing out dead bodies and trying to mop up the catastrophic mess that now made up nearly four whole New York blocks. The workers greeted each other wearily, slapping each other's backs while forcing smiles. It had been a tough couple weeks. And they still had so much work to do. The crews were so busy that evening, in fact, that it was a cop pounding a beat that actually noticed first.

He paused near the quiet of Trinity Church, an odd feeling coming over him. He glanced up, to a place where a shadow had seemed to flicker.

And there, atop a building, near the Grecian sculptures of the façade, stood five figures.

They had not been there a moment before—the cop was sure of that. Yet there had been no noise, no flash of light to announce their arrival. And they stood, saying nothing, gazing down at the cleanup crews—and at him.

The cop went still. His hand fell on his walkie-talkie. Yet, he didn't pull it to his mouth. He didn't do anything but stare.

The one figure in the center stood tall and gleaming, totally covered in red and silver metal. On either side of him stood a man in shining armor and a cape that rippled in the wind. One of these men had a bearing like thunder and a countenance like a lion—broad and strong and golden. The other bore an aspect of lightning—raven-haired, lean and striking. Beside _him_ warded a man in muted red white and blue, whose fair head gazed softly down upon the city as if it were an old friend. And beside the lion-like man stood a short, rugged, dark-haired figure in a leather jacket and jeans, seeming completely out of place—yet he held himself as if he belonged, unquestionably, beside these men.

The cop stood, frozen, as their shadow fell across him. Gradually, the other policemen, firemen and crewmen caught sight of those silent figures, and stopped their work.

For a long while, the city stood breathless. The wind did not even stir.

Then, the man wearing the colors of the flag raised his right hand, and gave a small, familiar salute.

The cop relaxed. He let go of his communicator. One by one, the workers resumed their cleanup. And as the night wore on, they would cast glances up at those five men, at first to keep an eye on them—and then to make sure that they were still there.

And the moon rose over New York, and the lights glowed out from the towers as the people of the sleepless town strove to piece their lives back together—and all the while, these five men stood like sentinels on a fortress wall, watching in settled silence, assuring all of Midgard without words, "Nothing is going to bother you tonight. Not on _our _watch."

BROTHER AVENGERS

_Review, dear hearts! Even if it's just a smiley face! _

_P.S. As soon as the Avengers: movie category appears, I am going to change this story's category from "Thor" to "Avengers." It shouldn't foul anything up if you've saved it to your favorites—but I wanted to let you know:)_

_I love you all._


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